


Do I Wanna Know?

by Shadow_Side



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Threesome, M/M, Multi, Strexcorp, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: With Strexcorp firmly in control of Night Vale, and Kevin starting to think clearly for the first time in alongtime, he finds himself caught between maintaining the company facade and secretly trying to protect the fledgling Night Vale resistance.And dealing with the fact that his beautiful scientist ex is now dating his equally-alluring double. Who he also has a crush on.And trying to steal a trans-dimensional key from his boss so that the Smiling God can't devour the world.(And you thought Carlos had it bad…)[A stand-alone fic set inChiralityverse, and a companion piece toOn the Nature of Love and Chirality.]





	1. Fear That You Can't Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, dear readers, now this is one I've wanted to write for a _long_ time. It's a companion piece to the story that started it all: _On the Nature of Love and Chirality_ (as well as a very deliberate tag to _A Song of Blood and Sunlight_ ), and covers some crucial sequences that you didn't get to see. And one that you did, but whose importance didn't become clear until much later. (And another whose importance was clear from the start, but I had to leave in. For the _narrative_.)
> 
> I knew when I started to write it that, whilst I've been calling it a 'one-shot', this particular fic would be somewhat longer than the other two one-shots I've done thus far. This turned out to be something of an understatement when the "maybe two or even three chapters" I was predicting ended up as _seven_. Needless to say, this is what happens when I let Kevin have POV!
> 
> OK. So. This one contains a great many spoilers for _On the Nature_ , but it also spoils the second big twist in _Da Capo Al Fine_ (if you've read it, you'll know why, and if you haven't, possibly do that first!) As with the Kevin/Carlos sequences in _A Song of Blood and Sunlight_ , I have avoided re-telling too much of what you've seen already, but you **do** get the whole sequence in the house that doesn't exist. Because of how utterly crucial it is. And because it's about time you saw it from Kevin's point of view.
> 
> You also get the Battle of Night Vale. I tried to find a way around re-doing it, but – like I said above – the narrative just doesn't work without it. (Plus it's my favourite 'big' sequence in the whole series, and getting to re-tell it from Kevin's point of view was just too alluring a possibility to pass up. So, on that one, I ask you to indulge me!)
> 
> As always, please refer to the [Chiralityverse Series Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/146883) for some helpful guidance on reading orders for this series as a whole, though I agree that this one is a little trickier to place than most, given the overlaps!
> 
> The title comes from the Arctic Monkeys song of the same name, and one that is painfully appropriate for this pivotal time in Kevin's life… which reminds me. I should warn you at this point that this one _also_ contains a sequence I originally wanted to include as a flashback in _Da Capo Al Fine_ , but which I opted to leave out _because it is too messed-up_. Which, given that story, is saying something. Warnings, therefore, for some hefty dubcon, as this series' favourite super-screwed-up relationship gets **worse**.
> 
> Well. How else do you think Kevin stole that key? Do you wanna know..?

Kevin walks the streets of Night Vale, in the light of the evening sun.

He's been here in Desert Bluffs' sister-city for almost a week now, but he still can't get used to it. For one thing, the place is strangely bloodless, which makes even familiar features like streets and walls and buildings seem oddly alien. And for another, despite the plethora of Strexcorp emblems and banners and the regular yellow helicopters, it's blatantly obvious that the greatest company in the world isn't welcome h–

…no. No. Think _clearer_ , he tells himself; pausing at an intersection to take a deep breath.

This is not easy. Every moment that he's here, he feels more and more as though the haze inside his mind is dissipating. He can still hear that strange, distant song – the song of Desert Bluffs – but it's so faint compared to the way it's been all his life, and sometimes he can go for hours without noticing it.

Though, right now, it's fair to say his mind is filled with a haze of a different making. He might be thinking much more clearly when it comes to the truth about Strexcorp, but he simply _cannot_ think straight when it comes to what happened yesterday.

He knows he was acting rashly when he decided to drag Carlos down an alley and talk to him at knifepoint. He does. He should have been a little less forthright… but, at the same time, he's not at all sure Carlos would have listened if Kevin hadn't left him with no choice.

He wonders if the kiss was connected to that. Or… if it was indicative of something deeper. It's been more than a day, and yet if he concentrates he can still feel Carlos' lips on his. Feel the warmth of his body; the way he'd just melted into the brief but wonderful embrace. Kevin tries to dwell on _that_ memory, and not the one from a moment later, when Carlos had pushed him off, but in many ways they both hurt just as much.

As do the memories of the short but… but _something_ … time when he'd been around both Carlos and Cecil at once. The way it had felt when he knew they were watching him fight. The strange flickers of care when they treated the injury he got as a result. The moment when they were both holding him, even though it was just out of necessity, and…

No. No. This has to stop. He has to focus. Being distracted by Carlos is bad enough. Being distracted by Carlos _and_ Cecil…

…No. No. Kevin can't risk it. Not now. Not now that the Management Board has arrived.

He remembers getting the news from Daniel, during his broadcast earlier this afternoon. Remembers the way it felt when he knew they were finally on their way. When he knew _he_ …

Kevin stops at the next intersection and takes another deep breath. He has to get his thoughts straight, and he knows it. Has to look and act like the company man he's been for two decades. He can't let a flicker of doubt creep into his voice, into his eyes.

Into his smile.

He can't. Or all is lost.

The Strexcorp Management Board have commandeered the building opposite Night Vale's City Hall. It's hung with huge Strexcorp banners, now – that vast orange triangle set with a large capital S – and guarded by several enforcers, all wearing the black suit and orange tie combination that's typical for the role.

And all of them armed: a silver-bladed knife sheathed at each enforcer's back. Kevin rarely finds them intimidating – he is, after all, far more dangerous – but it's hard not to right now, given that he stabbed two of their number to death in the street only yesterday.

And he's still not a hundred percent sure no one knows about it.

They snap to attention as he passes – which suggests they _don't_ know – and allow him entry to the large reception hall beyond the main doors. Inside, the hall in question is high and grand, and clearly designed to impress. It has a sweeping central staircase that leads to an upper floor, with a large, curved reception desk in front.

Seated at the reception desk is a man Kevin knows well: Andrew Fletcher, PA to the head of Strexcorp, Derek Hartley. Their boss. And… a man for whom Kevin does a certain amount of _off the books_ work.

Work that generally involves the knife sheathed at _his_ back.

Efforts are still obviously ongoing to get everything set up inside the building, given that Andrew seems to be in the middle of a rather heated discussion with several members of staff.

"…look, I don't _care_ if you have to be here all night: if that meeting room isn't _completely_ ready by tomorrow morning, I _will_ be looking for somewhere to lay the blame. And it **will** be on one of you."

"Andrew, you're being completely unreasonable!" one of the team interjects.

Andrew rises to his feet. "If you want to explain your incompetence to Mr Hartley, be my guest. But please ensure your affairs are in order before you attempt it, because it _will_ be the last thing you ever do."

"Is that a _threat_?" another of the team says.

"It sounded like a friendly warning to me," Kevin cuts in, softly; pacing over with a level smile on his face. Andrew looks oddly relieved to see him, whereas the gaggle of employees all seem highly alarmed, and several aren't shy about taking a step or two back.

"Is there a problem here?"

"No," comes the hasty reply. "No problem. We were just discussing timescales with Mr Fletcher, and now… now we need to get back to work."

"I would say so," Kevin remarks, faux-idly, and then stands leaning on the edge of the reception desk until the whole group has withdrawn through one of the side doors, as hastily as they can.

Andrew sinks back into his seat. "Thank you for that," he says. "Smiling God, Kevin, this day has been an absolute nightmare. The Board weren't due to arrive in town until Saturday morning, but Mr Hartley moved the schedule forward and we had to scramble everyone to get the building ready."

Kevin glances around. "You look to have done a good job."

"It'll do," Andrew answers, with a little shrug. "Mr Hartley seemed content enough when he got here."

"Is he still upstairs?" Kevin now asks.

Andrew nods. "Yes, he's in his office. Ms Wallace and Mr Tachibana are both in theirs. Mrs Belmonte has gone off to inspect the unopening door outside this town's bizarre Dog Park, and Mr Outteridge… actually, I'm not sure where Mr Outteridge is. But I'm confident he's doing something important."

"Mr Hartley sent word he wanted to see me," Kevin says. "Is anyone in with him right now?"

"No, no, he's alone," Andrew replies. "Besides, if he _was_ busy with someone else, he'd probably throw them out if he found out you were here. You are his _favourite_ fixer, after all."

Kevin gives Andrew a flat look. "I'm his _only_ fixer."

"Quite," Andrew says, pointedly. "The one person he _wouldn't_ throw out would be Lauren, and she already called ahead to say she'd be here in the morning."

Lauren Hartley-Mallard – Derek Hartley's elder daughter – is still over at the radio station. Kevin knows this, because they were having a fairly lively discussion about corporate marketing before he left for the day. Which was probably Lauren's way of saying she was nervous about her father being in town, and hoping he'll be pleased with the progress she's made.

Which he will. Kevin is sure of it. Strexcorp has few employees as loyal or efficient as Lauren.

"So I can go up?" Kevin says, before Andrew can sidetrack the conversation again.

"Yes," Andrew replies. "Please avoid mentioning that little tableau you were just witness to. I assure you that everything _will_ be fully in place by the morning."

Kevin smiles. "I don't doubt it, Andrew. I don't doubt it."

Giving the PA a nod, he heads towards that sweeping staircase, pacing up the centre. His heart is thundering in his chest, now, and he hopes it isn't too obvious in his expression that he is deeply, undeniably, unstoppably, nervous as hell.

If he concentrates, he can slip back into the persona that has been his life for the last two decades. The trouble is, the realities of his more immediate situation keep making themselves known: the clearness in his head, the truth about Strexcorp.

These painful feelings for…

…Merciless Azatothoth, he needs to _focus_.

Kevin approaches the door to Mr Hartley's office, raising his hand to knock.

"Come in," comes the voice from beyond.

Deep breath. Concentrate. _Smile_.

Kevin opens the door and steps inside. The office in question is similar in decor to Mr Hartley's manor house back in Desert Bluffs: classic and historical, rather than sleek and corporate, though just as impressive. There's a broad window offering a view out over Night Vale, as it shimmers in the glow of the setting sun, and a central desk in front of it.

Off to the left, there's a fireplace, with a large family portrait hanging above it: Derek Hartley, standing with his late wife Susan, and their daughters – Lauren and Naomi – in a garden somewhere, lit by the light of the sun. But Kevin only has a moment to glance at it, and to think how much he misses Naomi – who is back in Desert Bluffs – before his attention is drawn elsewhere.

At his desk, Derek Hartley rises to his feet. "Kevin," he says, smoothly. "There you are."

"Here I am, sir," Kevin replies, easily falling into his usual place in front of his boss' desk, even though the room itself is unfamiliar. "You sent for me?"

Hartley nods. "I did. I wanted to check in with you, now that myself and the rest of the board are in town. I must say… Night Vale really is quite something. The _hostility_ when we landed…"

He shakes his head, looking disappointed. "They'll learn. Clearly it will take longer than I hoped, but they'll learn."

"They will," Kevin replies. "Plus, now that you and the others are here… they'll come to see just what Strexcorp really is. What it represents."

That makes Hartley smile, fond and amused. "Ah, Kevin, I did miss you," he says. "It's been barely more than a week, but it feels so much longer. I think that's part of the reason I decided to move out here earlier than planned."

His words make the haze of emotions inside Kevin's head even more convoluted. He's been Mr Hartley's on-off lover for well over a decade, and it's difficult to reconcile his adoration for Strexcorp's great and powerful leader with the growing realisation that the man is a mass-murdering sociopath with some as-yet unknown way of mind-controlling large swathes of the populace.

Kevin himself included.

"I'm glad you're here, sir," he answers, as levelly as he can. "We all are. Especially… especially now that we've found the door."

The door. The unopening door. The _old oak door_. Kevin knows that Hartley is looking for one. That he's looking for one here in Night Vale. But, unlike most people, Kevin also knows _why_.

Hartley smiles more, pacing around the desk and right up to Kevin, draping an arm around his fixer's shoulders and leading him over to the window. Kevin doesn't resist it – _can't_ resist it – and he really wishes the contact didn't make his mind suddenly dizzy with need.

"Look at it, Kevin," Hartley says, gesturing to the view with his free hand. " _Night Vale_. They call it Desert Bluffs' 'sister-city' but the truth is that this place is nothing like our home. Not yet. Not swathed in darkness and devoid of blood. But all that will change soon, when the moment comes. When everything is in place. When I can finally open the unopening door with my own, special key… and let the Smiling God into this world at last."

Kevin shivers at the thought, though luckily Hartley interprets the reaction as one of pleasure, and tightens the arm around him a little. "I know," he says, as if in understanding. "I know. Think of it. Ceaseless light. Ceaseless radiance. Ceaseless _power_. We will finally be united in love and adoration of the greatest force in existence… and Strexcorp's true purpose will at last be achieved."

"It… will be something," Kevin manages. He's believed in the Smiling God all his life: worshipped it, venerated it, and yet he knows with absolute certainty that allowing it into this world would be the worst thing that could happen. Out of all the options. For everything.

"It _will_ ," Hartley agrees. "And it will be because of us. We've been working towards this time for so long, I can't quite believe it's almost here."

So long. So very long. Since Strexcorp's foundation back in 1953, by the very Management Board who still lead them today. And who don't seem to have aged in the slightest the whole time.

Why _is_ that, exactly?

"You've been here almost a week, now," Hartley remarks, changing the subject as he lets go of Kevin and moves to settle on one of the room's large leather couches; gesturing for Kevin to do the same. "How has it been so far?"

"…Different," Kevin manages, truthfully, as he sits opposite his boss. "I've had to take over broadcast duties at the radio station. My double is proving… problematic."

Hartley nods. "So I hear. I would send you to kill him, were he not on the list. But he is, so… we need him alive."

Ah yes. The list. The five people who are supposed to be able to save Night Vale from Strexcorp. Kevin isn't sure why that means Strexcorp wants them _alive_ , but it's a relief.

He just wishes there was some way to get Carlos' name on that list, too.

"In truth," Hartley goes on, "I'm hopeful I'll get the chance to meet him at some point soon. Having worked with you for so long, I'm sure that meeting your double would be _quite_ an experience."

_Don't I know it?_ Kevin thinks, wryly. "He expressed some… unhelpful views on-air yesterday. To cut a long story short… he's now on the run. He and…"

His voice trails off before he can stop it, and Hartley notices at once. "And?" he prompts.

"…He and Carlos," Kevin says. No sense in hiding it. But, then again, it's likely that Hartley already knows. "Turns out my ex has a type."

"Indeed?" Hartley remarks, with an intrigued look in his eyes. "I suppose I should have seen that coming."

_You and me both_ , Kevin thinks, but doesn't give it voice. "The enforcers are looking for them," he says, instead.

Hartley nods. "Good. I want you to maintain oversight of the search."

"Of course, sir."

Well. If nothing else, it will make keeping them hidden a little easier. Though Kevin still isn't sure how he's going to make all this work without getting caught.

Just that he has to.

***

In a suburb of Night Vale called Desert Creek, there is a house that doesn't exist.

This very line is written in the standard briefing dossier given to all Strexcorp employees who have been sent out to the town. The second line reads 'for safety reasons, avoid it at all costs'.

Perhaps this is why Kevin went there on his third day in town. Why he stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house in question for some time, just as he's standing and staring at it now.

It seems like it exists. Like it's right there when he looks at it. And it's between two other, identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.

But it doesn't actually exist.

You can go in it, though. Or, you can if you happen to have one of the old, metal keys given to senior members of the Strexcorp takeover team; keys that allow access to, amongst other things, the planar prison where the more important prisoners are taken. Keys that can also, Kevin knows, be used to open the old oak doors that have a tendency to appear in Night Vale.

He's surprised when he realises that the house that doesn't exist has doors like those. They're not free-standing, like the unopening door – which he suspects means they're less important – but it's clear they're still special.

But, perhaps, not as special as the house. The first time Kevin goes inside it, he discovers a place more strange than anywhere he's ever been: a series of rooms and passageways, most panelled in smooth wood, and some hung with pictures of lighthouses or windows. A series of rooms and passageways that _rearrange themselves_ every time you shut a door behind you.

It's equal parts incredible and terrifying. That first day, it took Kevin hours to find the way back out, and he was confident he'd missed a very important meeting as a result. At least until he discovered that time doesn't run at the same rate inside the house. After doing a few tests with a pair of clocks, he was able to work out that time inside the house runs about eight times faster than time outside the house.

And that's quite something. He can spend ages in there, and it only takes up a couple of hours of 'real' time.

Assuming time is real, of course. Which Carlos always used to say…

…no. No. Focus.

Kevin likes coming to the house that doesn't exist. The Night Valeans don't go near it, aside from occasional appearances by a team of scientists (whom he's sure are working for Carlos, which is – again – something he needs not to think about). And Strexcorp employees don't go near the house, either, because they've been told not to. And good Strexcorp employees do as they're told.

Which would seem to imply that Kevin is the other thing. The _bad_ kind. It's a new and alarming feeling, but it's the only choice he has.

He knows Strexcorp is evil. He knows there's something seriously weird about the Management Board. And he knows he has to do all he can to protect Carlos _and_ Cecil from what's going on here.

But the best thing about coming to the house that doesn't exist is that it means he can go completely off the grid. He can spend hours here without anyone noticing. Think. Focus. Plan. Clear his head.

Kevin uses his special key to unlock the back door, and slips inside. Moonlight plays over the floor of the room he's entered, but after going through a couple of internal doors, he's soon in a part of the house that has no windows, and no lights, with only the glow of his cellphone to chase back the darkness.

He likes that, too. He loves the sun – of course he does, he's from Desert Bluffs – but sometimes… sometimes the darkness is helpful. Soothing. _Anonymous_.

The rooms inside the house seem – at first glance – to rearrange themselves at random every time you go into one and shut the door behind you. But, after spending several hours exploring, making notes, and even leaving a few chalk markings here and there, Kevin realises it isn't entirely random. Certain places tend to lead to certain other places, and with a little trial and error, you can get to where you want to be.

Deep at the heart of the house is the room where he's spending so much of his time. A room with a large map of Night Vale pinned up on one wall, with key locations marked on it. And, close by, pictures of a number of notable figures from the local community, along with important members of the Strex takeover team.

Kevin has to monitor them all. Has to know what they're doing. He's already got a few of the enforcers passing him information on the quiet (which none of them question, because they all know he's Hartley's fixer, so it _must_ be for a good reason) and it's enough to build up a picture of what's going on in the town.

But it isn't easy. He needs to know what the resistance is doing. What the notables are doing. What the Strex teams are doing. And then… he needs to manipulate it accordingly.

And it's not as if he's done this before.

Strange, though, how naturally it comes to him.

He spends hours updating the information on the wall. He's aware that it pretty much constitutes a crazy-wall by this point, but it gets the job done, and that's what counts.

Just because he's rebelling against Strexcorp, it doesn't mean he's given up on being _efficient_.

Kevin pulls out his laptop, connects to the wi-fi (yes, the house that doesn't exist has wi-fi, who would've thought it?) and then logs on to the company server. Within moments, he's going through the day's enforcer reports, looking for anything that might imply…

…oh yes. Oh dear. One of the middle-managers appears to have suspicions as to the whereabouts of the fledgling Night Vale resistance. Well, that won't do. That won't do at all.

Kevin sighs. Time to go pay the man in question a visit.

***

…So it turns out that the house that doesn't exist has another helpful use. It's a _great_ place to stash the body of the person you just had to kill to stop him telling everyone where your ex and your double are hiding out.

The room in question is deep in the basement of the house; or what seems like the basement, given how variable this place is, and Kevin can't help thinking he might need to come down here again before all this is over. Several more times.

He sighs as he drops down in the centre of his crazy-wall room, the unpleasantries of the night over, and stares up at the map.

But he's not really seeing it, he knows that. He's exhausted. Between spending so much time in here, and everything he's had to do during the day, and barely sleeping last night because of what happened with Carlos and Cecil… Kevin isn't entirely sure how long he's been awake for.

He curls up on his side, still staring up at the map, trying to think. He really should just go back to the district in town where all the Strexcorp employees are being housed. Where he himself has perfectly acceptable accommodations containing – amongst other things – a perfectly acceptable bed.

…Or he could just fall asleep here. Which he does, far too quickly.

***

Kevin jumps awake in the darkness, scrabbling for his cellphone on the floor beside him and activating the torch function. His heart is racing, breathing shallow like he's been running, and he aches from having spent an unknown length of time lying on the hard floor.

And… _merciless Azatothoth_ …

He's not facing the map anymore. He's facing a different stretch of wall: one that was blank and empty before he fell asleep. One that is anything _but_ blank and empty now.

The wall in question is covered in drawings and writing, all clearly in his hand. He gasps in shock and alarm, trying to get his breathing under control, as he follows the curve and arc of it; like a train of thought in visual form. A train of thought leading to…

Kevin rises to his feet and paces closer to the wall, hand out to ghost over the image at the very centre. It's a drawing of a crystal, with sharp, angular facets, and the sight of it makes his stomach lurch, even though he has no idea what it is.

And, beneath it, are four words.

_Destroy at all costs_.

What's going on? What _is_ this? Has he really covered the entire wall in mad ramblings in his sleep? And… what if they _aren't_ mad ramblings? What if his subconscious mind knows something that his conscious mind doesn't?

Kevin stares at the wall, and shivers. One thing's for sure… he's not going to be sleeping any more tonight.


	2. How Many Secrets Can You Keep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...for the record, this entire chapter was written before _It Devours!_ was released.
> 
> And no, incidentally, I am _still_ not OK!

It's Saturday afternoon.

In the last day and a half, Kevin has had to pay a visit to three more members of the Strex takeover team. A nice, quiet, discreet visit. One of them has already been missed (which might mean a fourth person is getting a knock at the door) but – so far – none of the other disappearances has been noticed.

And that room in the basement of the house that doesn't exist is turning into a place you do not want to go. Even if you're responsible for the state of it.

Of course, it being _Saturday_ afternoon does throw up certain distractions. Certain distractions that are also problems of their own.

It's _Saturday_ afternoon. Which means that soon it will be Saturday _evening_. And _this_ Saturday evening is the annual festival of H'ygragagogoth.

H'ygragagogoth – a minor demonic deity – has been venerated by Strexcorp since the very beginning. Though not quite on a par with the Smiling God, worship of H'ygragagogoth is common amongst employees – particularly those with standard soul-binds to demons of their own – and the annual festival is always an important company event.

It's also at least in part due to the fact that H'ygragagogoth was one of the extra-planar entities honoured by Susan Hartley, late wife of Derek Hartley, and perhaps the most powerful summoner of the modern age. She used to lead the rites at the festival every year – culminating in an invocation of H'ygragagogoth itself – and the ceremony has become something held as much in her memory as it is anything else.

Especially for the Management Board. She was beloved by all of them – not just her husband – and her death five years ago has left a space that no one could ever fill.

The festival is being held outside Night Vale this year, given that most of Strexcorp's notables are here, and Kevin knows there's no way he can get out of attending. It's something he usually enjoys – even though it takes an entire coven to do it, the invocation is breathlessly wonderful to watch – but this time… this time he wants to avoid it.

He can't. People will expect him to be there. _Mr Hartley_ will expect him to be there. He just has to hope it won't end up the way it did _last_ year…

…merciless Azatothoth, don't think about that…

He was very loyal to Strexcorp, in the wake of the sandstorm. _Very_ loyal.

He's at his desk at the radio station – Strex doesn't do weekends – going through some painfully unhelpful listener statistics, when his cellphone rings. The sound makes him jump more than it should, and Kevin silently chides himself for being so edgy. Taking a deep breath, he picks the phone up, suspecting that it will be Mr Hartley calling him.

But it isn't. It's a number registered to one of the enforcers. Intrigued, Kevin lifts the phone to his ear and takes the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello… is that Kevin?"

"It is. Who is this?"

"My name is Declan. I'm one of the enforcer captains overseeing operations here in Night Vale. And I… I need to talk to you."

Kevin sits back. "You do?" he says, so very easily. "What about?"

"I need your help. I know you… I know you do certain things for Mr Hartley. Certain… special things. I think you might be able to assist with a case I'm working on."

"I see. What case would that be?"

"I don't want to discuss it over the phone. Can we meet?"

One of two things is happening here. Either this enforcer, Declan – why is that name familiar? – knows what Kevin has been doing the last few days, and is trying to lure him out, or he _doesn't_ , and is genuinely turning to him for advice. The trouble is, Kevin can't tell which possibility is true.

And that means he needs to dictate the terms of the meeting. Get this wrong, and he could be walking into a trap. Get it right, and he might secure himself a new and valuable source of intel.

"Of course," he answers, easily. "Tonight's the festival of H'ygragagogoth. Will you be there?"

"I wouldn't miss it!" the man on the other end of the line enthuses.

"Good," Kevin replies. "Then you can come find me there. I'll be with the Management Board, but I can slip away for a while."

No reason not to impress the guy. If his intentions are hostile, it will remind him what he's getting into. If they're benign, it will make him easier to influence.

"All right," Declan agrees. There's a trace of nervousness in his voice, which makes Kevin more and more sure that the man isn't trying to set him up. But that doesn't rule out the need for caution. "I'll see you tonight."

"That you will."

As the call ends, Kevin sits forward, thinking fast. Why is the name Declan familiar? And why has the guy – apparently – decided to turn to him for advice?

He doesn't know, but it looks like he's going to find out. And that means he's _definitely_ not getting out of attending the festival.

Kevin sighs, and goes back to his work. He doesn't have too much longer, and he needs to go back to his temporary accommodations and change.

Good thing he brought his robes.

***

The festival of H'ygragagogoth is being held in a large, wide stretch of the sand wastes outside Night Vale, about ten minutes' drive from the city limits. The rite itself is due to begin precisely one hour after sundown, but Kevin gets there early, knowing he won't be the only one.

He isn't. A sizeable proportion of the Strex takeover team is in the process of descending on the designated festival site, and apparently a large number of people are coming over from Desert Bluffs to join them.

The fire at the centre of the site has already been stoked, and flames are dancing into the air. Groups of people are gathering around it: some in the yellow robes of the Joyous Congregation, and others – like Kevin – in the orange robes favoured by the rest of Strex for occasions like these. The Joyous Congregation, of course, are the devotees of the Smiling God, and they're out in force to represent the long-standing alliance between the two deities.

"Ah, Kevin, there you are," comes a voice from close by.

Kevin gets his expression under control at once and turns, to see all five members of the Management Board approaching from the direction of a long, black limo that has obviously just dropped them off.

The speaker is, of course, Derek Hartley himself. He and the rest of the board are wearing orange robes similar to Kevin's, and he still finds it odd whenever he sees them out of their usual business attire.

"Here I am, sir," Kevin replies, before bringing his hands together to form the shape of a triangle in front of his chest, and intoning – in well-practiced Dzy-an-thyl – " _Glory to H'ygragagogoth, the one true Herald of the Ceaseless Light_."

Nina Belmonte – Hartley's unspoken second-in-command, not that anyone would admit it – grins. "My, my, your pronunciation is pretty much spot-on now." And she repeats the honorific, in Dzy-an-thyl; a language from the upper three infernal planes, and one that the Management Board are remarkably fond of. And very fluent in.

But then, it is good for high-level summonings.

Which they almost never perform themselves.

…Focus.

"We seem to have a sizeable crowd gathering," Hartley remarks, as the board move to take their places at the front of the circle forming closest to the huge bonfire. "I'm pleased. I would hate for tonight to be anything less than we've come to expect, just because we're away from home."

"I think it's going to be a night to remember," Nina says, looping an arm around Lilith's waist. "You enjoy yourselves, now."

"This is an important _religious festival_ , Nina," Hartley points out, just about managing to keep his expression level.

"Yes, Derek," Nina answers, dryly. "Of course, Derek."

She and Lilith both grin, their eyes flicking over to Kevin, before turning back to each other as if they did no such thing.

"…Those two are always insufferable at these events," Hikaru remarks, with a fond expression on his own face. "I must be sure to remind them as much."

"Try not to let your screams carry," Hartley says, now smirking as well.

"No promises," Hikaru purrs, and paces over to where Nina and Lilith are now deep in conversation.

Which just leaves Hartley and Aidan. The two men give each other a look, and then Aidan immediately paces off, without a word, and studiously ignoring Kevin. Of all the Management Board, Aidan Outteridge is the only one he's never quite gotten along with, which is odd, because Kevin dated Aidan's only son – Callum – many years back. At least, until…

…until…

…until Callum died.

It's at this point that Hartley drapes an arm around Kevin's shoulders, and – helpfully – it reminds him to start breathing again. And to pull his thoughts back to the moment.

He has enough to worry about.

"I'm so glad you're here," Hartley says, speaking low and soft, so that they won't be overheard. Not that the gathering crowd are exactly quiet. Or anything close.

"I wouldn't miss it, sir," Kevin answers. "I know how important this festival is. And… what it means to you."

No, no, no. Stop. He should be keeping this as businesslike as possible.

Hartley smiles, pulling him in a little closer. The gesture still looks mostly innocuous – the other man has always been good at keeping their relationship a secret, when they're in public – but it's enough to leave Kevin feeling somewhat dizzy.

He has to focus. Has to stop thinking of the other man as _anything_ other than a manipulative, mass-murdering sociopath.

…but he can't, not quite…

"It is my second favourite day of the year, after all," Hartley replies. "After the solstice, of course. And, since Susan died… it's always felt like a good way of honouring her memory. _No one_ invoked H'ygragagogoth like she did."

"You think we'll ever see another person with her level of power?" Kevin wonders aloud.

"In this generation? I doubt it. Sometimes it can be centuries before another emerges. And, if someone already had… Strexcorp would know about it. But that's all right. My Susan was special."

"She was," Kevin agrees. "I take it the Coven of the Sun will be here tonight?"

"They will," Hartley replies. "Those who are still working in Desert Bluffs should have made their way over this afternoon."

The Coven of the Sun was formed back in the early 1950s by Susan Hartley, and endures to this day. And, since her death, they have taken over the role of performing the invocation of H'ygragagogoth at this very festival, every year. Of course, Susan could do it on her own, whereas tonight it will take at least ten of them, but that doesn't stop it being impressive.

Nina's right. One way or another, it's going to be a night to remember.

***

As tradition dictates, the official rites begin precisely one hour after sunset. Fire dances into the darkening air, casting flickering shadows on the ground, as the gathered crowd take their places.

And the Coven of the Sun step forward: fourteen of them, all robed and hooded in orange. The crowd have formed into concentric circles around the fire, and the coven form the closest one, joining hands and staring inwards towards the flames.

" _Glory to H'ygragagogoth, the one true Herald of the Ceaseless Light_ ," the coven intones, in unison; all of them speaking Dzy-an-thyl. " _Praise be to the Smiling God, the Ceaseless Light, the Unending Power, It-That-Devours. Honour and acclamation to the planes: the Infernal, the Divine, the Untold, the Unknown. We invoke the name of H'ygragagogoth, the first to see the Light, the first to know the Smile. Break now upon your worthy servants, Herald of the Light, and tell us of the coming of summer. May we one day know the Summer-Without-End_."

And the rite begins. The invocation is long and complex; the chant one that must be memorised precisely to avoid any unpleasant side-effects. It's also one that should only ever be performed on one of H'ygragagogoth's dedicated festival days, because if you try this when it _isn't_ …

…well. It isn't exactly recommended. Kevin has never seen the results up close, but he's heard the stories. Susan Hartley and the rest of the coven once did it during an attempted hostile takeover in Desert Bluffs, and it took _days_ to clean up all the bodies. And… parts of bodies. And… things.

But tonight, on this night… the invocation is as safe as it can ever be.

Above the fire, reality itself seems to tear, and green light starts spilling down towards them all. Despite the flames, the air goes cold, with a strange static edge to it, and the watching crowd raise their eyes skywards, waiting.

Waiting.

And then… there is light. And power.

And _blood_.

***

It's best not to dwell on the rites once they're over. It makes coming back next year much easier. Suffice it to say, by the time the members of the coven are carried away to recuperate, _everyone_ present is covered in blood.

Some of it theirs. Some of it not.

The key side-effect of enduring the rites – even as a witness, and not an active invoker – is a profound emotional high. Many believe that the famous Strexcorp slogan _'work hard, play hard'_ came about from this very festival: perform the rite, enjoy the fallout.

And they do. Oh, they do. All over the festival site, groups of attendees sit talking, drinking, celebrating. Some break off and start performing smaller summonings, meaning that there are quite a few demons around. And some… well.

Some disappear off into the rocks and crags of the sand wastes, beyond the reach of the firelight, to celebrate on their own terms.

Which would be why, when Kevin finds himself with Hartley's arm around his shoulders again, it sets off a series of vivid flashbacks from last year in his mind. Flashbacks he badly needs not to be having right now.

"I… need to find someone, first," Kevin says. "I promised I'd meet him here."

"Oh?" Hartley purrs, sounding intrigued. "And who is this mystery man?"

"One of our enforcers, I think," Kevin answers. "He claims to need my help. And you know how I'm _always_ working to further Strexcorp's interests…"

"Of course, of course," Hartley replies. "There's no one more dedicated. But… do come find _me_ when your work is concluded."

"Count on it, sir," Kevin answers.

And, once the other man has let go of him, Kevin sets off into the crowd. He's confident that this enforcer, this Declan, will be close by, and likely waiting for a chance to speak to him whilst he _doesn't_ have their CEO draped around his shoulders.

How more people don't catch on, Kevin isn't sure. Unless they do, and just avoid saying anything.

"…Kevin?"

The sound of his name makes him turn, to see another man approaching from close by. The man in question is dressed in the usual black suit and orange tie combination of the Strexcorp enforcer division, and the fact that he's not robed right now means he's almost certainly on duty. But there's no reason he can't be enjoying himself at the same time.

He doesn't look it, though. He's pretty young – at least a decade younger than Kevin, if not a year or two more – and seems decidedly nervous.

"That's right," Kevin replies. "You must be Declan."

The younger man nods. "Yes. Declan O'Connell, enforcer captain. Newly-promoted. Sir."

Kevin holds up a hand. "Please, just Kevin is fine. Everyone knows I'm non-executive."

Declan's expression remains very careful. "Everyone knows what else you do too, sir. Uh… Kevin."

"Indeed?" Kevin replies, opting to let the matter lie, given the obvious effect it has on the other man. "And what exactly did you want to talk to me about?"

"I wouldn't have bothered you with it at all," Declan starts out, clearly reading from a script in his mind. "But… my mentor told me I could trust you. He says you're the best."

"Your mentor? Who is that?"

Declan straightens, in obvious pride. "Lawrence Lavene. He's been retired almost a decade, but he still takes the time to tutor one or two of us, and…"

"Lawrence!" Kevin exclaims. "I haven't spoken to Lawrence in weeks. We used to go bowling all the time but I've just been so _busy_ , you know? And he… _oh_ , that's why your name is so familiar. Last time we spoke, he said he was mentoring someone in the enforcer division. Is he well?"

"Very well," Declan answers, seeming to relax a little, especially at the news that Lawrence has gone so far as to mention him. "He's always thought very highly of you."

"The feeling is mutual," Kevin replies. "Lawrence was one of the best enforcer captains Strexcorp ever had. We did a lot of good work together, back in the day."

"He told me some of the stories," Declan says. "And… look, I need advice with a case I'm working on. A really serious one. And if anyone can help me with it… I know that person is you."

Kevin nods. "I'd be happy to. What are you investigating?"

Declan doesn't answer straight away, glancing around and then gesturing Kevin off to the side, as if he's worried about being overheard. Not that it's likely, in the current cacophony.

When they're somewhere slightly more secluded, Declan finally speaks. "I think someone in Strexcorp has betrayed us."

"Betrayed us?" Kevin repeats, levelly. "How?"

"There have been a series of… disappearances," Declan tells him. "Multiple Strexcorp employees – some of them senior – from different areas of the business. My superiors think it's all unconnected: that it's just the work of different people in the Night Vale resistance. But… they're wrong. It isn't. It's one person."

Kevin keeps his expression completely neutral, with just the mildest touch of interest. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

"In every single case, the subject in question has just vanished," Declan answers. "Gone. No sign of a struggle, no obvious – or non-obvious – murder scene. No body, no nothing. Gone. If this was a series of unconnected events, there would be variations, but there aren't. Every one is the same, and every one was carried out with remarkable precision. It has to be the same person. One person. One person who has betrayed Strexcorp and is now taking out specific members of the organisation. Why them, I don't know yet, but I do know they'll all have something in common."

"I _see_ ," Kevin says, now letting himself sound just mildly horrified by the implications. Which isn't hard, because he _is_ mildly horrified.

How can he not be? This young, nervous enforcer is closer to working out that Kevin himself is the traitor than anyone else has been. And it's no small mercy that the poor fool has chosen to ask advice from the very man he's looking for.

Kevin deliberately appears to consider the situation for a moment. "So why come to me?" he asks. "It sounds as though you're well on the way to apprehending the person in question."

Declan looks perturbed. "That's just it. I'm not. My superiors won't listen to me. They think there's no merit in my deductions. That I'm tying a bunch of cases together unnecessarily. But _I_ know I'm right. Someone in the organisation – someone important – has turned on us, and I'm the only one who sees it."

"Have you considered the possibility that the person you're looking for _is_ one of your superiors?" Kevin suggests. It would be precisely the line he'd follow, if he didn't already know who was really responsible.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Declan admits. "It's why I came to you. I'm worried you're right. I'm worried one of them is blocking me to hide their guilt."

"It's a very real risk," Kevin says, with a sage little nod. "And that's why you need to be careful."

"I do?" Declan answers, a nervous flicker back in his dark eyes.

"You do. The last thing you want is to cause too much trouble and open yourself up to being… removed from the equation."

"So, what? You're saying I should just drop it?"

"Absolutely not," Kevin tells him, tone so very reassuring. "You merely need to be _careful_. Keep your investigations quiet. Don't make a move until you're sure… and until you have proof."

He betrays nothing in his own eyes. In his smile. But the truth is… he's most likely going to have to kill Declan sooner rather than later. The trouble is, right now, Declan trusts him, and that offers Kevin a chance to find out just how much the enforcers actually know. And to plant a few seeds of doubt into their ranks.

It's a risky line to play. But it's the best one.

"Here's what I suggest," he goes on, smoothly. "Keep doing what you're doing. If your superiors ask questions, play the official line and say that you consider the cases to be separate. Then bring the evidence to me, and I'll help you put it all together. Between us, we should be able to work out who your traitor is… and stop them."

"And then… you bring them in?"

"Oh no, no, Declan," Kevin says, knowing that this is the moment he wins the other man's loyalty full-stop. " _You_ bring them in."

Declan stiffens a little, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "You'd let me do that?"

Kevin smiles. "I don't do what I do for glory, Declan," he says. "I do it for Strexcorp. Besides, any friend of Lawrence's is a friend of mine. Now… continue your investigation. I'll call you in a couple of days, and we can meet to discuss your evidence in more depth. But don't mention my involvement. I prefer to do this under the radar."

"Of course," Declan answers, with a nod. "I understand."

And Declan turns, heading back off into the crowd. Kevin watches him go, mind racing; well-aware that their next meeting might well end in the other man's death. And it's odd, because he's killed plenty of people – several recently – but this… this would be something else.

He just has to hope Lawrence won't ever find out. The last thing he wants is to drive a wedge between them.

On the plus side, this does give him a very workable excuse to use when Mr Hartley finds him again. Which doesn't take long. Kevin has barely had a chance to wander back towards the central bonfire when he finds himself suddenly grabbed from behind.

" _There_ you are," Hartley breathes in his ear. "Productive meeting?"

"Yes, sir," Kevin answers, truthfully enough. "Very productive. But…"

He turns, so he can look the other man in the eyes when he speaks. "…I'm going to have to slip out of the festivities early."

Hartley seems concerned, and disappointed; headtilting and regarding Kevin intently. "Why? What's happened?"

"I just met with an enforcer who told me something highly alarming," Kevin starts out. He has to be careful how he plays this, but if he's smart about it he can use it to his advantage. "He's been looking into several disappearances – all of Strex employees – and he thinks they're connected. He thinks we have a traitor."

"I _see_ ," Hartley replies. "And you believe him?"

"His evidence is sound. And… I've had my own suspicions for a few days now."

"You never mentioned anything."

"I know. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure. I didn't want to cause alarm unless it was warranted. But… I now think it is warranted."

Hartley's expression is nothing but businesslike. "That is concerning. What do you plan to do?"

"Conduct an investigation of my own," Kevin says. "Carefully. Quietly. And… I need to start at once. I want to go back to the Night Vale HQ building and go through some files whilst everyone is distracted out here. To keep it under the radar."

Hartley nods. "A sensible move. All right. I trust you to get this done. Although…"

He pulls Kevin in a little closer again, hand stroking over his chest, eyes full of promise and _want_. "…I hope we can make up for lost time sooner rather than later."

And Kevin smiles, betraying nothing in his expression. "You can count on it, sir."

***

Three days pass. Three agonising, insufferably long days.

In-between his usual broadcast duties – which are a welcome respite from everything else – Kevin conducts his own investigation into the traitor within Strexcorp. It is weirdly difficult to investigate yourself, but he needs to see how much evidence there is. Needs to work out what Declan likely knows, so he can react to it when the moment comes.

Plus, it's excellent cover.

Things in town are becoming more fraught. Cecil seems to have allied himself with the youth militia run by the infamous Tamika Flynn, and they're providing him with cover so that he can put out his own daily broadcasts from WZZZ, Night Vale's local numbers station, and home of what Kevin already knows to be a sentient computer with prophetic powers.

He tries not to think about it. He has enough to worry about. Such as the fact that, any given day, Strex might decide that letting Cecil stay on-air is no longer convenient, and remove him.

The man is going to end up in prison. Kevin is sure of it. Which means he's going to need a plan to break his double _out_ , if and when – likely when – it happens.

At this rate, he's going to need a second crazy-wall just to keep track of all the overlapping plans he needs to make. This dissident-business certainly is exhausting.

…and don't use the d-word…

He's just gotten off-air when his work cellphone rings, and he pulls it out to see Declan's name on the screen.

Deep breath. Company man. Focus.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Declan. Are you free to meet?"

Kevin glances up at the clock on the wall, thinking fast.

"I'm just finishing up some work at the radio station, but I should be done in an hour or so. Is that good?"

"Yes, that's perfect," Declan replies, sounding relieved. "Can I come meet you there? I have a _lot_ to show you."

Kevin has already considered this part. His office is near the back of the Night Vale Community Radio building, with convenient access to the rear doors. Which could come in handy, if he needs to move anything surreptitiously.

Like a body.

"Works for me!" he answers, brightly.

"OK, great. I'll see you soon."

As they both hang up, Kevin stares down at the cellphone screen in resignation.

This isn't going to end well.

***

Enforcer Captain Declan O'Connell shows up at the radio station precisely one hour later.

"Ah, there you are," Kevin says, looking up from his desk. "Come in. Might be wise to close the door."

Declan clearly agrees, because he steps in at once, shutting the door behind him. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly," he starts out. "I'll… start by talking you through what I've found, if I may?"

Kevin nods. Judging by the other man's demeanour, he hasn't yet worked out that his target and his source of advice are one and the same. From what he's seen so far, Kevin doubts that Declan would be acting this way if he knew.

"Please do," he answers, graciously.

So Declan does. His investigations are impressively thorough, though missing the one or two additional factors that might point him straight in the right direction. Kevin has to be glad he's covered his own tracks as well as he has, because otherwise Declan would likely be trying to arrest him right now. And though _that_ would still end in the other man's death, it probably wouldn't be enough to stop the secret coming out.

And he _has_ to stop the secret coming out. Not so much for himself, but because Cecil and Carlos' lives depend on it.

They'll never even know. It hurts. But… it changes nothing.

It's some time before Declan comes to the end of his evidence. By this point, the sun is setting outside, and vibrant orange light is pouring through the gaps in the blinds covering the window.

"So… what do you think?" Declan says, finally, sitting back and looking nervous.

"I think you're a damn good investigator," Kevin tells him, truthfully. "I also think you're not there yet. What you've got is detailed, but without a common factor to tie it all together, it's just circumstantial. And your superiors will continue to insist the incidents are unrelated."

And that's when Declan smiles. It's a nervous smile, but he's clearly pleased about something. "I have one other piece of evidence. I was saving it 'til last, because… well, I thought it would be dramatic."

Kevin smiles, textbook-level and giving nothing away. "Oh?"

Declan pulls out one final file and puts it on the desk between them. "I ran the phone records for all the missing people. There was a lot of activity but very little commonality… except for one thing. All of them received a call from an unknown number on the day they disappeared. Most within a few hours of the last time they were seen. An unknown number. The _same_ unknown number."

"I see," Kevin says. "But you don't know who it belongs to?"

"No. It isn't in the company database. I think someone has a burner-phone."

Kevin nods. "Smart. But if it's a burner, you'll never track the owner."

"Not through the records, no," Declan answers. "So we do it the old-fashioned way."

And, before Kevin can say a word, Declan pulls out his own cellphone and dials. There's a moment of terrible silence, and then the sound of ringing cuts the air.

And it isn't from Kevin's business cellphone, lying happy and obvious and unconcealed on the desk. Oh no. It's from the _other_ cellphone in his jacket pocket. The one he's been using to keep his activities off the radar. The one whose number he gave to Carlos, in the hope the man might use it one day.

The one he used to call the people he's killed, to arrange the meetings he needed in order to get to them.

The sound makes Declan jump, and stare at him in a mixture of confusion and horror, his mind seemingly averse to processing the now-obvious truth. For his part, Kevin sighs, pulling out the burner-phone and silencing it.

"…But…" Declan starts out. "You…"

"I really wish it hadn't come to this," Kevin says, feeling a strange, emotionless calm envelop him. "If there had been any way to throw you off the trail… I would have done it."

"… _You_ …" Declan gasps, his mind clearly still frozen.

"Me," Kevin answers, softly.

What happens next does so mercifully fast. Declan leaps to his feet, at precisely the same moment as Kevin. He turns, making a break for the door, but it only takes Kevin a few seconds to catch up with him, grabbing him from behind and driving his knife squarely into the young enforcer's back.

"I realise this is no consolation," he whispers, holding the stricken man close, desperately trying to make this quick. "But I really am sorry. I never wanted it to go like this."

"…You… betrayed…" Declan tries.

"I know," Kevin says, softly. "I know. I had to. I _had_ to."

The man in his arms drops at that, and before Kevin has even lowered him to the ground, Declan is dead.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

Kevin steps back, pulling his knife free, staring down at the body. His heart is racing, his breath quick and shallow. He's killed more people than he can count, and somehow _this_ is the one that rattles him?

He knows he can't let it affect him. Not now. Not yet. He has to deal with the situation first, or someone else will find out the same truth Declan did.

He has to fix this. It's what he does.

It's who he is.

***

It's dark by the time Kevin makes it back to the house that doesn't exist.

He's dealt with the scene at the radio station. Gathered up every scrap of evidence, including the reams of files Declan brought with him. As far as they're concerned, all he can do is hope that the man's superiors don't put someone else smart on the case. That they stick to their belief that the incidents are unconnected.

If they don't… no. No. Worry about that later.

He hides Declan's body in the basement room of the house, with the others. It is not a pleasant experience. He's spent his life surrounded by blood, and by quite a number of bodies, and yet right now… it suddenly horrifies him.

It all horrifies him. What he's become. What he's had to do, to get this far.

What he'll still have to do.

When it's all over, Kevin makes it back to his crazy-wall room before he collapses on his knees. He doesn't cry – he rarely cries – but he stays like that for a long time, half-curled over, his mind frozen in shock.

 _"Get a hold of yourself,"_ he says, out loud. And he rarely talks to himself out loud, either.

Eventually, he looks up, seeing the huge map on the wall, and the collection of intel pinned up beside it, and his breathing starts to become more normal. _This_ is why he's doing what he's doing. For Night Vale. For _them_.

They'll never even know.

And somehow, that's the part which hurts most of all.


	3. Crawling Back To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. This is it. The scene that was too messed-up for _Da Capo Al Fine_. The scene that delayed publication of this fic by about two weeks because it took so long to get the poor muse to let me write it.
> 
> Warnings for dubcon. And knifeplay. And smut. (And other bad and wrong ~~and lovely~~ things...)

The next day, things are much quieter.

OK, this is not strictly true. But, with Declan's investigation subtly shelved in the wake of his disappearance, and the pressure taken off Kevin as a result, it definitely _feels_ like things are quieter.

Kevin spends the day constantly expecting a knock at the door, but it never comes, and by the time he gets his news round-up for the afternoon's broadcast, it's clear that – once again – he's gotten away with it.

He's left with a fresh set of questions, however, when he goes back to the house that doesn't exist that evening and – getting minorly lost – ends up running across someone _else_ in the house. Someone trapped in one of the ground floor rooms, in what seems like an extraordinarily complex time loop. Or… something like a time loop. Or…

…oh, don't think about it. You need a scientist for these things. And Kevin is currently without one of those.

What's more concerning is that the man in question is clearly the double of Desert Bluffs' lead agricultural expert, James Paulson – the farmer, you know? And Kevin is well-aware that John Peters is one of the five names on the most-wanted list.

Needless to say, he doesn't report anything about the man. Or where he is. Or that they have a very brief conversation which is mostly about a photo of a lighthouse.

And on his way back from _that_ particular encounter… something far worse happens.

The house that doesn't exist has a back door and a front door. Kevin has already discovered that, though they always lead outside, they don't always lead out into the same place, because evidently the house doesn't exist in multiple places. They _often_ lead back out into the Desert Creek development, but on occasion they go elsewhere.

Like that _forest_. That weird forest that _talks to him_.

Kevin doesn't like that forest.

Today, passing the front door, Kevin realises light is glowing under it. And that's odd, because it's night, and though time runs differently inside the house, it runs at a steady rate relative to time outside the house.

And it should be dark outside.

And it isn't.

And that's troubling.

Cautiously, Kevin approaches the door. He takes a deep breath, pulling it open, and…

…there is _light_. Bright, blinding, cold, empty, heartless, **light**.

Beyond the door, there is a desert: a vast, open wastescape, with a lone, distant mountain at its centre. Atop the mountain is the intermittent flash of a single, blinking red light. And in the sky overhead, there is…

…there is…

A rumbling cuts the air, and Kevin slams the door shut, leaning back on it. The light vanishes from the gap beneath, the sound fading at once, and he slumps down, still holding the door closed. His heart is racing so hard it makes his chest ache, and he's confident that he wouldn't be able to stand right now if he tried.

He knows what he's just seen. He knows all too well. He also knows of an entire congregation who would likely die of happiness had they just seen the same.

Maybe he would have too, once, a long time ago.

 _Look around you_.

 _Look inside you_.

 _Go to sleep_.

 _ **Believe**_.

The Smiling God is preparing to cross over. And if it does… all is lost.

Forever.

And all it will take is Mr Hartley deciding the time is right, and going to the old oak door outside the Dog Park, and opening it with his key.

His special key.

His _unique_ key.

…His unique key that happens to nevertheless _look_ identical to so many others.

Kevin pulls out his own. And the one he took from Declan, when the man was dead. And… he looks at them. They open doors. Special doors. _Old oak doors_. But Hartley's key… that one has the power to open an old oak door onto the very same view that Kevin has just seen. Which means… if he doesn't have it, he can't let the Smiling God cross over. He can't win. _Strexcorp_ can't _win_.

It's a long time before Kevin can engage with what he has to do next.

But he does. And he has to.

***

It's the following day.

Kevin wants to put this off, but he can't. He can't risk waiting. Things could move forward at any time, which means he has to do this as soon as possible, so he's ready for whatever comes.

He walks to the Night Vale Strex HQ building – opposite City Hall – as soon as his broadcast is done for the day. He knows he could drive, but he needs to walk. It's the only way to burn off the adrenaline. This _has_ to be convincing.

…and he _wishes_ that some tiny, treacherous part of him wasn't still excited by the prospect. Wishes that he could just be universally horrified by the thought. Wishes he could switch off all these _feelings_.

But he can't. His life would be infinitely easier if he could.

Kevin makes it to the HQ building, stepping inside. He's greeted by a sudden hubbub of activity, and a swarm of technicians in the middle of installing some kind of large security barrier with two openings – one either side of the central reception desk – that look uncannily like blank, staring eyes.

He paces over to that central desk, where Andrew Fletcher is hard at work. The PA glances up, then jumps slightly – obviously not having expected it to be Kevin staring down at him – before trying to act as if he did no such thing.

"Kevin," he says, voice mostly level. "I didn't realise you were due in."

"It's an impromptu visit," Kevin answers, easily. Lying to Andrew is far too easy. "What's going on?"

Andrew looks long-suffering. "New security measures," he answers. "The Management Board felt they were necessary, given the instability in this wretched little town. I can't claim to care either way, but I do wish it didn't include quite so much _drilling_!"

He shouts this last part, as a fresh batch of the activity in question cuts the air.

"…Please kill me," he murmurs, and then jumps. "I meant that non-literally. Alternatively, I could do with an aspirin."

"I sympathise," Kevin replies, trying to sound sincere. "Is Mr Hartley upstairs?"

"He is," Andrew answers. "And no, he's not with anyone. You can go right up."

Kevin nods. "Perfect. I have a very delicate matter to discuss with him. See to it we're not disturbed."

"'Very delicate'," Andrew repeats, with an edge to his tone. "Yes. Right. Of course."

Opting not to dignify this with a response, Kevin heads through one of those weird, eye-shaped portals in the security barrier, and on up the stairs towards Mr Hartley's office. His heart is racing in his chest, and he knows he has to get his reactions in check.

Knows he has to make this convincing.

He also knows this is his last chance to turn back. To not go through with this.

But he has to go through with this.

Kevin raises his hand, and knocks on the door.

"Come in," Hartley calls, from inside.

The instant he steps into the room, the other man rises to his feet. "Kevin," Hartley says, with obvious pleasure in his voice. "I wasn't expecting you this afternoon."

"I know," Kevin replies, closing the door behind him. The sounds from downstairs are completely inaudible once he does, and he can't help but think there's an element of otherworldly intervention at work here.

Not that he has time to dwell on such things.

"Has something happened?" Hartley asks.

"Nothing of note, no," Kevin flat-out lies. "That isn't why I'm here."

The other man smiles. "Then why _are_ you here?"

This would be so much easier if Hartley's voice didn't make Kevin want to fall to his knees. So much easier, and so much harder.

"I'm sorry I had to leave the festival so fast on Saturday night," Kevin says, which is an answer in and of itself. "Even more so because the investigation led nowhere."

Under normal circumstances, Hartley would probably be more questioning about this. But right now… he's already distracted. "Indeed? A pity. But, as always, your dedication to the company and to the cause is admirable. And now… am I to take it you're here to make up for lost time?"

Kevin never initiates these encounters. Never. But Hartley doesn't seem displeased by the fact that he is clearly doing so now.

"Yes, sir," Kevin answers. He can't keep a tremor out of his voice as he speaks, but it could easily be interpreted as anticipation, and isn't likely to give him away. "That is… if you have space in your schedule."

Hartley smiles more. "I always do, where you're concerned," he replies. "Lock the door."

That simple order sends a stab of arousal running through Kevin, and he's glad of the excuse to turn and do as he's told, if only because it hides the initial reaction in his expression. But when he turns back, and meets eyes with Hartley again, he understands precisely what he's just let himself in for. What he's initiated.

Hartley paces around to stand in front of his desk, watching his fixer with hawkish intent. "Come here," he says. His voice is soft and level, without a trace of force, and yet there isn't the slightest room for doubt that his words are an order.

Kevin does as he's told. Every step feels like a death sentence and – at exactly the same time – like an instant of glorious anticipation. But he can't simply go with it, the way he usually would. He has to make this _good_. So good that it will distract Hartley from what's really going on here.

Which is why, when he reaches the centre of the open floor in front of Hartley's desk, he drops down onto his knees, head bowed; upturned palms at his sides. The perfect picture of not merely surrender, but _supplication_.

It works. Hartley gives a little gasp of delight, pacing closer to him and slipping fingertips under Kevin's jaw, gently lifting his head to make eye contact. "You really are something," he breathes. "So loyal. So _devoted_. And you'll be the one standing at my side when we win this."

"Nothing would make me happier, sir."

"I know, Kevin. I know. You deserve nothing less. What you've done for Strexcorp, for _me_ … I won't ever forget it."

His other hand brushes over Kevin's cheek, before sliding to the back of his head, fingertips lacing through his hair. "Tell me who you belong to."

" _I belong to you, sir_ ," Kevin gasps, and the words are so easy to say. Too easy.

The fingers in his hair tighten just a little. "Again."

" _I belong to you, sir_." Even easier. His mind is sinking far too fast, and he can feel the craving in his blood: a craving that must be fought, that must not be indulged.

A craving he has to give in to nonetheless.

Hartley smiles. "You do," he says. "Oh, Kevin, you do. And you always will."

The sheer possession in his tone is dizzying. Before Kevin knows it, he's been pulled to his feet, and then Hartley turns them both around, pushing Kevin up against the edge of the desk. He feels a momentary flash of instinct to _resist_ , and then Hartley kisses him. And any such thoughts go right out the mental window. The other man kisses like he acts: firm, decisive, and thoroughly in control… and it is so hard not to enjoy that.

" _Oh_ ," Kevin breathes, as the kiss breaks.

"I've always known what you like," Hartley says, sounding pleased with himself. "Helpfully, they're things _I_ like doing. _To you_. And I'll tell you what else I know…"

Before Kevin has a chance to react, Hartley yanks him sideways, pushes him across the room, and slams him roughly into the wall. Roughly enough that it's a damn good thing there's a lot of noise downstairs. Kevin's heart races even harder, and he manages to just go with the movement, not resisting it. Not giving anything away.

…Plus, it's far too easy to surrender…

Hartley leans in close, staring him down, and for a single, terrible instant, Kevin is sure the other man knows everything. Sure this is it.

"…I know you're hesitant about this," Hartley goes on, and when the words aren't an immediate accusation, Kevin manages to react just enough to keep his emotions in check. "You were hesitant on Saturday night, too. I know you had important work to get to, but… you were a little eager for the distraction."

This is nevertheless not good. "I… sir… I can explain."

Still holding him against the wall with one hand, Hartley lays the fingertips of the other over Kevin's lips. "You don't have to," he says. "I already know. I can tell that this place, this little _backwater_ , is getting to you. Every time I see you, you're more and more on edge. I understand, you know. I want to go home as badly as you do. And I promise… it will all be worth it, in the end. I also know that this whole business with your ex and your double has been…" He headtilts. "… _Challenging_. But I can help. I can take your mind off it all. I can remind you precisely where you belong, and who to. Would you like that?"

Yes. No. Yes. _No_.

… **yes**.

" _Please, sir_ ," is Kevin's answer.

Hartley smiles again, and then kisses him, hard and deep. His hands go to Kevin's chest, stroking along the lines of his collarbone, and Kevin feels even more dizzy with need as the other man starts to unbutton his shirt, slowly stripping him to the waist; kissing him over and over in between.

Only when he's done does Hartley speak again, pressed in close and suddenly very intent. "I remember the last time you were like this," he says, soft and low. "After the sandstorm. You needed clear proof of who you belong to. You needed all those other thoughts pushing out of your head."

He draws his knife, slipping the blade under Kevin's jaw, and the world _stops_. "You needed **this**."

" _Oh, please_ ," Kevin gasps.

"Please _what_?" Hartley pushes, in a soft growl that makes reality go black around the edges.

" _Please, **sir**_. I… need you… I need you to remind me… I…"

The words are hard to say. So very hard. Especially because he knows part of him still means them.

Hartley kisses him again, without moving the blade from Kevin's throat. "Sometimes I think about asking you to resist," he says, as the kiss breaks, and the words do terrible, wonderful things to the inside of Kevin's head. "But the truth is… I simply _cannot_ get enough of your adoring obedience. It's intoxicating. And that is not an admission I make lightly."

"You know I've worshipped you since the moment we met," Kevin breathes. And it's certainly true that he did, but it's also true that part of him still does. A part he can't switch off. It's as if there's some invisible connection between them, and it won't break, and so long as it doesn't, he can't stop feeling the things he feels.

Can't? Or won't? He doesn't know. And the unanswered question weighs heavy, making him close his eyes instinctively, as if to run from it. Hartley, on the other hand, seems to take this as an invitation, and leans in to kiss him again.

When the kiss breaks, he angles the knife upwards a little, making Kevin lift his head, and wordlessly insisting on eye-contact. For a moment, it looks as though he's about to say something, and then – instead – he strokes the blade down the centre of Kevin's throat.

" _Oh_ ," Kevin gasps, without thinking about it.

Hartley smiles, evidently pleased at the response, and now traces the tip of the blade across the top of Kevin's chest. The sensation is more intense when he does – because it's the most dangerous way to do this – and Kevin can feel the world going dark around the edges again.

And there it is: this deadly, insidious need that coils up from inside him, at the touch of that knife. That makes him _want_ , against reason or common sense. And it's that same need which spurs him to speak again; to gasp a single word that makes Hartley stare at him in delight.

" _Harder_."

"Ask me _properly_ ," the other man pushes.

" _Harder, please, **sir**_ ," Kevin gasps.

Hartley smiles. For a moment, Kevin is sure the other man is going to acquiesce, and then – instead – he finds himself pulled suddenly away from the wall and flipped deftly down onto the floor. And yes, he could react, but… he doesn't. On the contrary, he gives in to the movement, letting it happen, and within seconds he's on his back, with Hartley climbing on top of him.

"Hands above your head," comes the other man's order, and Kevin complies at once. He likes this. He can't _help_ liking this. It reminds him of the first time they were together; the first time he surrendered sexually, to the only man he's ever surrendered to. Because, with anyone else, he likes to be the one on top… but with Hartley, there's only one place he can be.

"Now," Hartley goes on, "ask me again."

" _Harder, sir_ ," Kevin gasps, feeling his cheeks flush pink but not for one second letting it stop him. " **Please**."

He feels the blade touch his chest; lightly, for a moment, and then suddenly harder, firmer. It isn't enough to break the skin, but he can tell that it isn't far off. That even an instant of miscalculation could have serious consequences.

But he likes that too. Of course he does. He's never exactly been one for safe and easy.

"Does that feel good?" Hartley purrs, watching his face with obvious interest.

"Yes," Kevin whispers, fingertips curling into his palms, up above his head, as a jolt of pleasure runs all the way through him. "Oh yes."

"Good," Hartley says. "I knew it would. You've always loved this. But… which part is it you like the most? The danger? Or… the sense of giving yourself over to someone more powerful?"

"I… both?" Kevin tries.

The other man leans in closer at this, pressing the blade over Kevin's throat again. "Come, now," he says, smoothly, "surely you can do better than that?"

His words send a renewed jolt of heady pleasure running through Kevin, and it's a moment before he can speak. "I guess… giving myself over to someone more powerful," he admits. "To you, sir. Only ever you."

…Though he can't help but wonder what it would be like if… _Merciless Azatothoth_ , don't think that now..!

" _Please_ ," he begs, to keep his mind in the moment. And… because he _needs_. "I'm yours, sir."

And Hartley smiles again. "You are," he says. "So… let's see how much you can take before you beg me for mercy…"

He presses the blade to Kevin's chest once more, starting to stroke it slowly, firmly – very firmly – over the contours of his skin. And there is simply no denying that it feels _incredible_ : the cool kiss of the metal, the pressure, the danger… and, yes, the inescapable knowledge that he's completely in the other man's power right now.

It shouldn't feel so good. It does.

And that knife. Oh, that knife, trailing across his skin, which could spill his blood with little more than a slight increase in pressure. That could have him _screaming_ , as opposed to gasping, and still at Hartley's mercy.

And… some part of him would enjoy it. Even if the rest of him really wouldn't. He pushes the thought down, burying it as deep as he can, because that's not something he wants to engage with.

Not now. Not ever.

He can feel the light sting of it, by this point; the sensation of over-stimulated skin, and he knows he must be covered in marks. They'll fade, of course, but he'll still feel them.

Sometimes he can feel them for days. Not just the knife, but whenever the other man touches him. Like firebrands across his skin, and he almost wonders why other people can't see them too.

"You're _very_ receptive today," Hartley breathes, leaning in close again. "Am I going to have to try harder?"

"Sir, I…" Kevin starts out, but Hartley silences him with an oddly gentle touch of fingertips to his lips.

"Don't apologise," he says. "I'm not angry. I'm just wondering what it will take to get you to scream your devotion to the rafters…"

Kevin feels his heart rate quicken. "… _You_ ," he breathes.

And _that_ makes Hartley's ethereal blue eyes go suddenly _dark_. There's a moment when he's staring down at Kevin, full of hunger, and a need all of his own, and then they both launch at each other.

 _Both_ of them. Kevin isn't sure what makes him throw caution to the wind like this, but he does, and Hartley clearly doesn't object. He gets the knife out of the way in time, dropping it to the floor close by, right before the two of them start kissing like there's no tomorrow, whilst simultaneously reaching for fastenings, pulling each other's clothes off.

Kevin feels like he's losing his mind. Like he's losing himself in a need he shouldn't feel and mustn't indulge. A need that burns in his blood, in his thoughts, blazing through him, pushing back any sense of reason.

Maybe that's appropriate. Because none of this is rational.

And yet, somehow, in the midst of it, the crucial opportunity presents itself. The whole _point_ of him coming here in the first place. It happens so fast, like he isn't even thinking about it; like his body has taken over because his mind has gone under. Kevin manages to slip the key out of his pocket, then pushes that same hand into Hartley's pocket under the pretence of using it to pull him closer, so as to get the front of his trousers open.

He's right first time. Hartley may know him all too well, but Kevin knows _him_ well enough, and it takes only a second to switch his key with the one he finds in Hartley's pocket, before lightly palming it out and slipping it into his own.

And it's done. He could try to make an excuse, now. Try to put a stop to this.

But he doesn't. He pulls Hartley in closer, letting the other man keep kissing him, knowing that sooner or later his own pushiness will be met with overwhelming force.

He's right about this, too. As soon as they're done stripping each other – clothes tossed halfway across the room in an effort to get them out of the way faster – Hartley swipes up the knife from the floor, seizing Kevin's wrists and pinning them roughly above his head with one hand, blade pressed to his throat with the other.

"My, my, you _are_ full of fire today, aren't you?" he says. "Is _this_ what you need? To be taken? To be _claimed_?"

" **Yes** ," Kevin gasps. "Yes. I need it. Need _you_. I want to be able to feel it for _days_."

That makes Hartley press the knife in so firmly that Kevin hardly dares breathe. "You'll feel it _forever_ ," he growls, and his tone sends a heady, almost painful jolt of arousal running all the way through Kevin, which dials up even higher as Hartley leans in to kiss him bruisingly hard.

The instant the kiss breaks, the other man pulls back, takes hold of Kevin, and flips him roughly over onto his front. Kevin is still reeling from the impact as Hartley reaches over to tug open one of the drawers on his desk – just within reach – getting hold of the bottle of lubricant he keeps in it.

And then he's back on top of Kevin in an instant, yanking him up onto his knees, pushing his legs apart and starting to stroke him, rough and quick.

" _Beg me_ ," Hartley growls, and he clearly doesn't mean for this.

" _Please, sir_ ," Kevin gasps.

" **Again**."

" _ **Please, sir**_ ," Kevin obliges, like a man losing his mind. Like a man who has long since _lost_ his mind. "I need to be yours. _I need to be **yours**_."

Hartley curls in over him at that, knife pressed against his throat with one hand, and still stroking him almost harshly with the other. "You _are_ mine," he breathes in Kevin's ear. "You will _always_ be mine."

The words cut Kevin to the core, deeper than that knife ever could; chased by that treacherous, glorious need to be _utterly overwhelmed_ against all reason or common sense.

" _Please, sir_ ," he whispers, so very softly this time. An act of complete surrender.

He can _feel_ the way it makes Hartley smile. The other man holds him like that for a little longer, still stroking him, and then pushes him back down, setting the blade on the floor and reaching for the lubricant. He's quick about it, too, and within a moment he's starting to push into Kevin, slow and careful but relentless all the same, not stopping until he's buried as deep as he can go.

" _ **Oh**_ ," Kevin gasps, the world having long since faded to black. "Oh… _sir_ …"

Bracing himself with one hand, Hartley picks up the knife with the other, pressing it back against Kevin's throat. "Tell me who you belong to," he growls.

"You, sir," Kevin whispers, and even as he does, he knows it's still true. Despite everything else. It's still true, and he wonders if it always will be.

"That's right," Hartley breathes in his ear. " _That's right_."

And he starts to move his hips, slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster, until every thrust feels like it's pushing Kevin further and further out of his mind; Kevin, who has long since stopped worrying about whether he can do this or not, whether he _should_ do this or not.

All he knows right now is that he _needs it_. Needs every jolt of pleasure, needs the roughness. Needs the blade at his throat, to remove the choice. To make him surrender.

…to make it OK for him _to_ surrender…

"…I'm so close…" he breathes, when it starts to get too much.

Hartley presses the blade in more firmly again. "Don't you _dare_ ," he growls. "You come without my permission, and I _will_ punish you in a way you _won't_ enjoy. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Kevin gasps, quickly, biting his lip. Knowing this is a line he cannot risk crossing, even if…

…don't think that. Do _not_ …

"You're _mine_ ," Hartley reminds him – and if he wants Kevin to hold back, he really needs to use a different tone of voice because _that_ one doesn't help. "You do as I tell you. You come when I tell you. You _breathe_ because _I allow it_. **Do you understand?** "

" _Ohyessir_ ," Kevin manages.

"Good," Hartley breathes, gentler now. "Good. Put your hand between your legs and stroke yourself."

"…S-sir?" _Are you trying to break me?_

"Now." **Yes**.

And so, keeping his balance with one hand, Kevin manages to move the other, and do as he's told. And, even staying slow, he knows he'll only be able to do this for so long before he completely falls apart.

He wonders if that's the point.

"You feel so good," Hartley tells him, like he means it. "So very good. So completely _mine_."

"Oh… s-sir… please…" Kevin gasps, his mind shattering with every breath. "I…"

Hartley presses the knife in more firmly, kissing his shoulder at the same time, and the counterpoint of the two makes everything go hazy all over again. "Not yet," he whispers, strangely gentle. "Not yet."

"… _please_ …"

" _No_."

The denial makes reality fold in half, and Kevin feels his last vestiges of grip on the world fall away, and he _surrenders_.

He shouldn't. He mustn't. He does.

"That's it," Hartley breathes, gentle but triumphant. "That's it. Come for me."

And Kevin does. Pleasure rips through him like a whipcrack, and he howls in bliss as the climax overtakes him, flaring again and again in waves so intense they almost hurt. It's clearly more than enough to pull Hartley over the edge as well, making him cry out as he comes, holding onto Kevin even tighter in the process.

When it's finally over, both men drop forward; Hartley catching himself before he falls right on top of Kevin, and then curling against him, whilst they both find their breath.

" _Oh_ , that was good," Hartley murmurs, moving the knife at last. "You really do excel at this…"

"…I excel at everything I do…" Kevin murmurs in reply. "Strexcorp _loves_ efficiency."

Hartley laughs softly. "Very true," he agrees.

The moment of calm breaks, and the thoughts start to rush into Kevin's head again. "I… should probably let you get back to work," he says.

"Probably," Hartley agrees, with obvious reluctance. "Before I decide to spend all afternoon tormenting you out of your mind…"

"There's always next time," Kevin points out, as flirtatiously as he can.

There will not be a next time. Even though his body is already longing for it.

"Truer words…" Hartley breathes, with an audible smile.

They stagger slowly to their feet, retrieving their clothing – which is strewn all over the office – and re-dressing as best they can. Hartley has the innate ability to immediately look as if he _hasn't_ just been having furious sex with an employee on his office floor, though Kevin feels as though he himself looks guilty as hell.

Maybe it's because he feels it.

When they're finally presentable, Hartley pulls him in and kisses him. "We're going to win this, Kevin," he says. "And I couldn't have done it without you."

And Kevin manages a smile. "I know, sir," he says. "Oh, I know."

***

Kevin isn't sure how he manages to walk out so calmly, but he does.

He walks down the steps, giving Andrew a nod as he goes. There's a flicker of something in the PA's expression, but Kevin doesn't stop to question it.

Walking out is one thing. Discussion is quite another.

He steps outside, and keeps going; all the way back to the radio station, where his car is parked. He hardly notices anything on the journey; his mind in a strange kind of lockdown, emotion a distant concept.

He gets in his car and he drives out to the residential district in the south of Night Vale that Strex has commandeered for its employees. Parks outside the apartment he's staying in. Walks inside, and through to the bathroom at the back.

Pulls off his clothes, cranks on the water in the shower.

Steps in.

And that's when his knees give way. He drops down under the flow of warm water, feeling as though its simple touch has knocked the air from his lungs, and it's a good few seconds before he can even breathe again.

Every inch of him is still thrumming with pleasure, and he knows – he _knows_ – that he shouldn't have let himself enjoy it. Shouldn't have _wanted_ to enjoy it.

It was wrong. He knows it was wrong. Maybe more wrong than all those people he's killed.

Kevin closes his eyes, and leans his head against the smooth tile, and lets the water pour over him.

He wants to cry. He can't cry.

He settles for breathing.

It's a long time before his mind catches up with him. Before he realises there's something in his hand: something he kept hold of when he stripped off. Something he can't let go of.

He looks down. And there, grasped in his palm, is a metal key: old and worn, made of burnished brass, with a long barrel and a looped end. A key seemingly identical to so many others.

A key different from all the others.

 _The_ key.

And suddenly, he's crying. Actually crying. He's kneeling under the warm spray, clutching the key in his hand, and he's crying and crying; like all the walls have come down inside.

He isn't free. Not yet. But he will be.

One way or another, this will all be over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes cover*
> 
> *holds out placatory fluffy blanket and icecream*
> 
> LOOK AT LEAST THERE'S MORE AND I DIDN'T MAKE YOU WAIT ON ANY CLIFFHANGERS THIS TIME.
> 
> *hides*


	4. Aces Up Your Sleeve

When it happens, Kevin knows it will happen fast. Mere days at most.

He's right. It's over a week later – a torturously long week – when the news arrives, in time for the day's broadcast. The Management Board are holding an event at the unopening door, outside the Dog Park in Night Vale, in two days' time.

This is it. Kevin has been making his own preparations for this inevitable moment. He's even recruited a few other people from within the business who are clearly having the same thoughts he is. He tells them no more than he has to, but he knows it will be enough to get them to help him when all of this comes to a head.

But, just as he thinks today can't get any worse, his cellphone rings; moments after he goes off-air.

It's Mr Hartley. "I won't prevaricate over this," he starts out. "As part of the preparations for Sunday, I have the enforcers moving against our enemies here in town. They're looking for multiple persons of interest. And your double has been arrested."

The revelation is like being hit in the chest, and Kevin can only be thankful that the other man can't see his eyes right now. "I see," he answers, levelly. "Where is he?"

"I've had him taken straight to the planar prison," Hartley says. "But don't worry about that. I need you to do something for me, Kevin, and it isn't going to be easy. I need you to find the scientist, and bring him in too."

Kevin closes his eyes, now thanking every power he knows that this conversation is over the phone. "I see," he says, again. "You… want him alive?"

"I do. There have been multiple reports of a very strange prophecy being uttered by people all across town, and it would appear that your wayward ex may be more relevant to all this than first realised."

The urge to silently punch the air is strong. Kevin has been slipping references to that prophecy – the one the weird computer at the numbers stations came out with – into reports and transcripts everywhere he can over the last week, in the hopes that it would be picked up on.

Apparently it worked.

"I know this will provoke conflicting emotions for you," Hartley goes on. "But I also know I can count on you to be professional. Strexcorp needs the man alive."

 _And you think I want him dead_. Nothing could be further from the truth.

"I understand, sir," Kevin replies, so very levelly. "I live to serve the company."

The smile is audible in the other man's voice. "I know you do," Hartley says. "Find the scientist, and bring him in. Call me once it's done."

"Absolutely, sir."

As the call ends, Kevin leans against the nearest wall. His heart is racing, and the mixture of emotions running through his head right now is complex indeed.

Cecil has been arrested. This is bad.

Carlos hasn't been arrested. This is good.

Carlos is no longer wanted dead. This is _very_ good.

Kevin has to find Carlos. This… could turn out to be something of a problem.

And this, it will soon become evident, is the understatement of the year.

***

Kevin spends the rest of the afternoon leading the search for Carlos.

It is surprisingly difficult. The man appears to have dropped off the face of the world – much like several other members of the Night Vale resistance – and no one can work out where they've gone.

It's long after sunset, and he's in one of the enforcer stations, co-ordinating several teams in the field. On the surface, he looks the picture of calm, and focus, and dedication.

Under the surface, his mind is racing. Where has Carlos gone? Are the resistance about to make their move?

And then, during a quiet moment, his cellphone rings. His _burner_ phone.

Unblinking, he headtilts towards the door. "I need to take this," he says to the closest enforcer. "I'll be right back."

The instant he's stepped outside, and knows he's alone, Kevin lifts the phone and looks at the screen. It's an unknown number, and there are _several_ people who could be calling – given what a _productive_ week he's had – so he keeps his mind open and his voice neutral as he lifts the phone to take the call.

"Hello?"

"…Kevin? It's… it's Carlos."

The whole world stops. "Carlos?" Kevin repeats, still a little stunned that the other man has actually called him. "Carlos, where are you?"

"I… I… Your people have Cecil."

Carlos sounds terrified, and Kevin's chest aches to hear it. "I know," he replies, as levelly as he can. "I've been looking for you all evening. Carlos, please, tell me where you are."

It would make a whole world of sense for Carlos to refuse to answer this question. A _whole_ world. But Kevin still asks, because he can't fight the hope that – on some level – Carlos genuinely wants his help. And believes he'll give it. And mean it.

"…I went home."

No _wonder_ they can't find him. Going home is a _rookie_ mistake. Although… OK, in the nicest possible way, maybe Kevin should have thought of this sooner.

"Home?" he repeats. "Are you insane? I… Look, just stay put and keep away from the windows. I'm coming over."

And he hangs up, not wanting to keep the line open any longer than necessary. Just in case. And _then_ he leans back against the nearest wall, taking a very deep breath.

He's been waiting for this chance for days. And it is vital, vital, _vital_ that he does not mess it up.

***

He messes it up.

Or, that's how it feels as Kevin storms back out of Carlos' front door a short while later, fighting the sudden urge in his blood to storm back _in_ and…

…and…

…and what, exactly?

There aren't many ways this could have gone worse. He came straight here, making certain he wasn't followed, and sure enough Carlos has been in the house all afternoon, and all evening; ever since getting the warning that Cecil was arrested.

The man is in shock. That much is obvious. And Kevin knows he's handled the whole situation very, very badly. Knows he shouldn't have provoked Carlos. Knows he shouldn't have implied all those _things_ … although he's still somewhat taken aback by where it led.

He may have been doing the provoking, but it was Carlos who kissed _him_ first. And the other man certainly seemed happy enough about the idea of having rough, frantic, half-clothed sex mere moments later.

He seemed _very_ happy about it. At least until it was over. And _then_ he was clearly anything but.

Which is why Kevin is now storming _away_ from the house where Carlos _still_ is, trying not to look like he's just been kicked out.

Which he has.

And it **hurts**.

He gets back in his car, slamming the door shut; gripping the wheel in both hands and closing his eyes. He has just screwed this up. He has just _monumentally_ screwed this up in return for a few moments of blissful happiness that are only going to make what comes next _even worse_.

Breathe. _Breathe_. **Focus**.

He can still make this work. It won't be pleasant for either of them, but… he can.

He can.

And he does.

And it isn't.

***

Kevin leads a whole team of enforcers back to Carlos' house, and arrests him.

Best not to dwell on the details. Best not to remember the look of abject betrayal in the scientist's beautiful eyes, when he steps outside and sees the swarm of people waiting for him.

Best not to think about the fact that Carlos will never forgive Kevin for any of this.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is the moment when – looking for all the world to see like a triumphant and loyal Strexcorp employee – Kevin steps in close to Carlos. So very close. Close enough to make a play of hitting on him.

Close enough to slip him the key. _The_ key.

He doubts Carlos is even aware of it when it happens, but that doesn't matter. He'll find it. He won't realise he's in possession of an object of untold otherworldly power, but he'll soon work out that it opens all the doors in that wretched planar prison.

Plus, it's a strange relief to no longer have _that_ key around. Somehow, it feels safer in Carlos' hands. And now, even if Kevin does get caught out, he can't give it up.

One way or another, it's done. And maybe, when Carlos realises _what_ Kevin's done, he might forgive him for some of it.

But he's never going to forgive him for all of it.

***

It's a very, very fraught night.

Word gets out that there's been an incident on the edge of Desert Bluffs, and it doesn't take much to guess that it's in the vicinity of the doorway into the planar prison. By sunrise, it's clear that both Cecil and Carlos – and a third Night Valean named Josie, one of the others on the list – have indeed escaped, taken out several helicopters, and disappeared.

The enforcers are livid. The Management Board are _more_ livid. Several people get dragged in and given severance packages, and Andrew sounds rattled as all hell when Kevin calls him for an update.

"…Just don't ask," Andrew says. "Let's just say the sounds carry when Mr Hartley wants them to. And they are _much_ worse than usual."

"Are there any leads?"

"None. No one knows where your double has gone. Or his scientist. Or the weird woman who associates with _angels_."

Of course no one knows, Kevin thinks. He's been hiding all reference to the fact that Cecil and Carlos have been hiding out with _Cecil's sister_ for days. It's taken several more deaths just to stop anyone catching on, and it isn't going to work for much longer.

"I see," Kevin replies. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Are you coming in?" Andrew now asks.

No. Kevin is not coming in. Kevin has not been back to the Night Vale Strex HQ building since the day he stole Mr Hartley's key. And he does not plan on going back any time soon.

"Not yet," he replies, betraying nothing in his voice. "I've been up all night. If I don't sleep for at least a couple of hours, the consequences won't be good."

"…Why does that sound like a threat?"

"No reason. I'll report in later."

Andrew doesn't seem wholly pleased by this, but he's in no position to argue. "Fine. I'll see you soon."

And they hang up.

It's true that Kevin hasn't slept all night. It's also true that he's painfully tired.

But he isn't going to sleep. Oh no. He has something much more important to deal with. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when everyone gathers at the unopening door tomorrow afternoon, it will all end in battle. He knows he'll have to tip his hand at last, and throw his lot in with the Night Valeans.

And they aren't exactly fond of him. Which means, if he's going to survive what's coming, he needs the one ally who will never abandon him.

He needs Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty.

***

Since the very beginning, one of the most prevalent and popular employee perks for Strexcorp staff has been the availability of soul-binds to their own assigned demon. It's something Kevin has enjoyed for many, many years, and he can't imagine his life without Azatothoth in it.

They've fought together. Slain Strexcorp's enemies together. Plus, Azzie is _great_ company, even if he'd strenuously insist otherwise. And Kevin knows that, should he reveal that he's finally turned on Strexcorp, it's more than likely his soul-bind to Azzie will be revoked.

Mr Hartley can do it on the spot, if he chooses. Kevin has seen it happen to other people before. As CEO of the company in whose name all the binds are arranged, Hartley can cancel any one he wishes, at any time.

And Kevin cannot let that happen. He _must_ not. But the only way to prevent it is to summon Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty using not his regular soul-bind, but the full, formal ritual transcribed in the Planar Lexicon. An _unbound_ summoning. Such things are generally frowned upon, given that – without a bind to prevent it – the demon in question has a tendency to turn on its summoner, anyone close to its summoner, and any other squishy mortals within reach.

But… surely Kevin can talk Azzie down before that happens. Surely? They've been _allies_ for so long, after all.

Well. He can't risk _not_ trying it. He needs to summon his demon, and persuade the guy to cancel their Strex-authorised soul-bind and establish a private one with him instead. One that Mr Hartley has no control over. And surely Kevin has enough power and influence of his own to warrant Azzie taking him on.

Surely?

He has to try. He has to try _today_. And he has to try somewhere that he won't be disturbed, or noticed, so no one will realise what he's done until it's too late.

So Kevin goes back to the house that doesn't exist.

He slips inside, taking everything he'll need with him, and – with a little trial and error – makes his way down to one of the rooms in the house's basement. Just not _that_ room. He'd rather not go back to _that_ room if he can help it.

The room he _does_ want to use is one he's seen before, and he remembers thinking that it would be good for performing summonings should the need arise. It has wood-panelled walls – like much of the house – but a smooth, stone floor, and no windows or other features of any kind.

Perfect.

Kevin props the door open, just enough to make sure that his route back upstairs doesn't vanish. He can still get back if it does, but it's much faster to keep it in active existence. Active non-existence. Something.

And then he sets to work preparing the room itself. He arranges brackets of candles at all four corners, lighting them up and casting the space in a flickering, golden glow. Next, using charcoal, he draws out a complex summoning circle on the ground, in the shape of a pentagram. It has a very specific set of symbols between its five points, and he spends some time making sure he's got every one just right.

This is going to be risky enough. The last thing he wants is to have it go wrong because one of his sigils is wonky.

The summoning itself requires only the circle, but anyone with an ounce of sense would add in extra wards and honorifics, to strengthen the protections on the room and to further reduce the risk of this ending in violent evisceration. Kevin covers the walls in every ward and sigil he knows that might help, interspersed with various placatory phrases written out in Linear-B.

He always uses Linear-B. It's his favourite. And it's distinctive enough that Azzie should recognise it at once.

Once he's done, he stops, and composes himself. He has to get this right. He has to get this right or he loses his one advantage. And possibly ends up horribly killed. Although that part seems somehow secondary to the rest, and doesn't feel real.

Slow, deep breaths. _Slower, deeper_ breaths.

Time to do this.

Kevin raises his hands, holding them palms-forward at head-height. To the uninitiated, it looks very much like a gesture of surrender, but this is only the case if one applies a narrow, human viewpoint to the situation.

If you're from the Fourth Infernal Plane, for instance – like Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty – the gesture is not one of surrender. Oh no. It means 'I am large and terrifying and coming to devour you'.

Kevin has to hope it's especially convincing today.

He starts to chant. The words are familiar, and they come easily, flowing like blood. As he speaks them, light starts to chase along the lines and curves of the summoning circle on the ground, flickering in the dimness. A sound rings through the air: a sound like a drum being struck in the recesses of Hell itself, and – even staring unblinkingly forwards – Kevin knows his palms have started to glow.

No turning back now.

He reaches the end of the chant, calling out the final three words, and then there's a vibrant flash of unholy red light, and Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty appears in the centre of his summoning circle.

The demon is quite a sight. Eight feet tall, he's built similarly to a broad, muscular human, albeit one with horns and spikes and a pair of curved, bat-like wings curled behind him. He wears a black loincloth and metal boots, and hanging at his side is a vast sword with a red-eyed skull set into its pommel.

And every inch of his skin is drenched in blood.

There's a very brief, very heavy pause, and then Azatothoth gives a stretch of his wings. He stares down at Kevin, evidently about to speak, then seems to realise something isn't right.

"…Did you just summon me _unbound_?" the demon rumbles, in a voice resonant with the accumulated agonies of a thousand tortured souls. And more than a little snark.

"I did do that, yes," Kevin replies, "but just hear me out and–"

Azatothoth _roars_ , stretching his wings again and reaching for that terrifying, spiked sword, drawing it with a flourish. "Unbound!" he interjects, sounding half-aghast and half-delighted. "I will _rend_ you. I will _end_ you! I will break upon this helpless world like–"

"Azzie," Kevin interjects, "this is no time for–"

"And then, when all this plane is steeped in fire and blood, and all its powers are razed to the ground, I will stand beneath the blackened sky and–"

" _Azzie_ ," Kevin cuts in, a little more firmly. "Please just listen to me for a moment."

The tone seems to catch the demon off-guard, and he lowers his sword, staring at Kevin. "What are you _up to_?" he asks, now sounding more suspicious than anything else. "Why would you summon me unbound?"

"Because I don't want any record of it having happened," Kevin answers. "I don't want _Strex_ to know."

Something odd flashes in the demon's vivid red eyes. "…Ah," he says. "Right. This. You're turning on them."

There's more he isn't saying, but Kevin doesn't have time to push the matter. "Yes," he replies. "And I need your help. Specifically… I want to break my Strex soul-bind to you and establish a private one instead. You must have been taking on more clients of your own since you were promoted to adjunct, because of how important you are now, and… OK, look, I may not have been especially powerful when we were first bound, but I have _twenty years_ of summoning experience now and I think I'm more than worthy to–"

"…If I say yes, will you spare me the sales pitch?" Azatothoth cuts in. "You're not wrong about me taking on more private clients, I'll admit, but – Dread Father – Kevin, there is no one who talks more than you. And yet… I can't bring myself to cleave you in two and rend your pitiful little world to blood and ash."

Despite it all, Kevin beams. "That's because you like me so much!"

Azatothoth rolls his eyes. "Don't push your luck. And don't expect this to be easy. Getting me to agree is just the first step."

"I know," Kevin answers, more levelly. "We can't establish a private bind until the company one is broken, and that means we need to perform the rite of severance."

"Yep," Azatothoth says, dryly. "And that part isn't going to be fun. Strex soul-binds have a lot of planar insurance built in, to stop this very thing from happening without their authorisation. My bosses on the Fourth will _not_ be happy when they find out, although turning up with you on my personal books should be enough to placate them."

The demon sighs, finally sliding his sword back into its sheath. "Do you know how to perform the rite?"

Kevin nods. "Yes. I've been studying it. I had to write the incantation down because it was so complex, but it's the manipulation of the planar energy that has me worried. I mean, I'm a decent summoner, but–"

"You're strong enough to make it work," Azatothoth cuts in, which makes Kevin smile despite everything.

"Awww, Azzie, you do care!" he exclaims.

"No. I just wouldn't risk trying this unless I thought you could pull it off," the demon counters, though Kevin isn't convinced by his tone. "I suppose you'll be doing it in Linear-B?"

"Of course! It's my favourite language. I love the way it sounds."

"Kevin, you do know Linear-B is a _written script_ , not a spoken language, right?"

"Not the way I speak it!"

Some people just need to learn to think outside the box. _Very_ far outside.

Azatothoth sighs. "Fine. Then let's do this fast, because I'm not looking forward to it."

There are three ways to break a soul-bind. The first is to kill either one of the two parties involved, which tends to be the most common way they go. The second is to invoke a planar administrator and make a case for why the bind needs to be broken, and hope they agree.

And the third is this: the rite of severance. This option requires the consent of both parties, who must perform it together in order to break the bind, so it's the least common. It is also rumoured to be more than a little unpleasant to go through, which is supposedly to dissuade people from performing it idly.

So Kevin and Azatothoth stand opposite each other, on the edge of the giant pentagram drawn on the floor. As ritual circles go, it will be more than adequate to channel the energies required – assuming Kevin can summon them in the first place – so there's no need for him to draw out anything more complex.

He pulls out a sheet of paper, carefully unfolding it to reveal the wording of the ritual, which he's already translated into Linear-B. He meets eyes with Azatothoth, contemplating asking him to hold it, and then quickly changes his mind and opts to simply keep it in one hand.

Possibly best not to go too far where Azzie is concerned. The demon _is_ still unbound, after all.

"All right," Kevin says, taking a deep breath. "Here we go…"

And they both hold out their hands, meeting eyes across the ritual circle, and beginning to chant. It starts out easily enough, but soon the energy begins to build, and – trying to keep his voice level – Kevin feels a shockwave of it break through him, like a kind of stinging heat in his blood.

It hurts. But it won't stop him. They reach the crucial point in the ritual, and each hold a hand out towards the other; light starting to spiral between them, as the planar energies create a manifestation of the soul-bind in mid-air.

It's… strangely beautiful, in a way.

Then they meet eyes again, each clearly psyching up to the final declaration: a clear, firm shout followed by them yanking their outstretched hands to the side.

If you do this part right, it rips the bind apart. If you do it _wrong_ … well. Best not to do it wrong.

Mercifully, it works. Kevin feels a burst of bright pain chase through him, seconds before the energy connecting them shatters, as if it was made of something physical. He hears Azzie give a grunt of discomfort, and then they both drop their arms.

The air goes cool, and still; the last of the light fading back.

"…OK, wow, _that_ was unpleasant," Kevin manages, breathing deeply. "Did it work?"

"It worked," Azatothoth says, voice oddly heavy. "You and I are now unbound."

Kevin looks at him hopefully. "So… now we can get _re_ -bound, right?"

"Yes," the demon rumbles. "Seeing as you _are_ actually more powerful than you think, we can."

"Plus you'd miss me if I wasn't around."

"Did I not tell you not to push your luck?"

Kevin opts to reply to this by smiling, until Azzie relents. "Fine. Yes. We'll do this. The first step is to perform the standard background check."

"Uh… don't you already _know_ my background?" Kevin asks, a little surprised. "I mean, we have _been_ soul-bound before."

"I knew it back _then_ ," Azatothoth points out. "Besides, it's just procedure. For the paperwork. You know."

Sometimes it's best not to argue. "All right," Kevin agrees. "What does it entail?"

The demon grins suddenly. "Just hold still."

And – before Kevin can react – Azatothoth reaches out and presses a large, spiked hand to his chest. It is… something of an experience. He feels a new burst of energy rush through him, though thankfully this one doesn't hurt in the slightest. For a second, an odd look comes to Azatothoth's vivid red eyes, and then the demon steps back all at once, seeming suddenly, genuinely concerned.

No, not concerned. _Afraid_.

"What is it?" Kevin asks.

"…Tell me this isn't some kind of test," Azatothoth says. "Tell me _he_ didn't…"

"Who didn't?" Kevin repeats, concerned to see the demon reacting like this. "Azzie, what's going on?"

"You have a second soul-bind," Azatothoth tells him. "It's… Kevin… do you know about this?"

Kevin stares. "A second soul-bind? That's impossible. I've only ever been soul-bound to you. And… isn't it considered bad form for a human to have more than one soul-bind?"

"Very!" the demon exclaims. "What do you think the background check is for? But this… Kevin… you _don't_ actually know about it, do you?"

"No," Kevin replies, his own fear starting to build. "Azzie, tell me what's going on."

It's a moment before Azatothoth actually does. Possibly before he actually _can_. And Kevin is confident he's never seen the demon look so genuinely, _genuinely_ worried.

"…You're soul-bound to Derek Hartley," he answers, finally.

"That's impossible," Kevin breathes, feeling like he's just run headlong into a wall. "It's… can humans even _be_ soul-bound to each other?"

A very, very odd look comes to Azatothoth's eyes now. There are a _great_ many unspoken words in this look, and Kevin would be more worried about what they are, if he wasn't too busy being horrified by what he's just been told.

"…Yes," Azatothoth answers. "Humans can technically be soul-bound to other humans. This is a different kind of binding, though, because it isn't used for summoning. It hasn't been used on this plane in centuries; not in more than a handful of instances. That kind of bind isn't like the one we have, which is active all the time. It's… dormant. For the most part. Until the _dominant_ party invokes it, at which point, the… _other_ party is brought completely under the control and will of the invoker."

Kevin feels suddenly as though his knees are going to give way. "You… you're telling me that… that I…"

"You are soul-bound to Derek Hartley," the demon says, flatly but carefully. "The bind is currently dormant, but if he invokes it, you'd be pulled immediately under his control, for as long as he wanted to keep you that way."

"I… _how_?!" Kevin exclaims. "When?!"

"It's hard to pinpoint, but the bind has been in place for years, certainly," Azatothoth tells him. "And… look, I realise this is something else you don't want to hear, but this type of soul-bind _can't_ be formed without the consent of both parties. You can't force it on someone. They have to say yes."

Kevin closes his eyes. He's been trying to fight the awareness that he has gaps in his memory, because it's easier if he doesn't think about it. But when he does… he can tell there's a lot he can't actually remember. So… does that mean… does that mean he once _consented_ to this?

It's a realisation that cuts him to the core. And yet, at the same time… he knows it's true.

"Can you break it?" he whispers, finally meeting Azatothoth's eyes again. "Can you break it without Mr Hartley knowing?"

The demon shakes his head. "No. No. To break a soul-bind without the consent of one – or both – parties, you need an administrator."

Kevin nods. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to that. But… they could do it?"

"They could do it, yes," Azatothoth replies. "The trouble is… if you want to make sure your illustrious boss doesn't find out, they'd need to do it off the books. Cover it up. So… we're going to need my guy."

"I _knew_ you'd have a guy!" Kevin exclaims, feeling a sudden rush of hope that this might actually work. "You're way too well-connected not to."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Azatothoth says. "But yes, I have a guy. He can break the bind between you and Hartley, and he can do it so no one will find out. There is, however, a catch."

"Of course there is. What is it?"

"My guy is Fourth Plane, obviously, but he's not a being who can be specifically summoned. If you want to bring him here… you're going to have to open a gateway."

Kevin stares. "You're serious? A _planar gateway_? A planar gateway to the _Fourth_ Infernal Plane? I know I'm good, but I'm never going to be able to do that. Not on my own. With a couple of other summoners to help… probably, yes. But alone?"

Azatothoth sighs. "Kevin, if I may be blunt, that _employer_ of yours does not recognise the extent of your powers. Which means neither do you. Now, I'm not saying you're the next Susan Hartley, but you _are_ stronger than you think."

"…Did you just give me a pep talk?"

"Do you want to do this or not?"

"Very badly."

"Fine. Then you need to open a gateway to the Fourth Infernal Plane. Do you know how?"

Opening a planar gateway is an extraordinarily difficult thing to do. The level of difficulty varies depending on which plane you're trying to reach, and whether you want the portal to be one-way or two-way. It's also affected by how many people you're performing the ritual _with_. If there's several of you, it's much easier – this is one reason why summoning covens are so popular.

Kevin takes a deep breath. "I've studied the rituals. For academic purposes. They vary from plane to plane but I paid particular attention to the one for the Fourth… you know, just in case. And… yes. OK, yes. I can do it."

I have no idea if I can do it. But I have to.

"All right," Azatothoth replies. "Now give me charcoal."

"Give you… charcoal?"

"Yes. Or I could use your blood."

Kevin holds out the charcoal he used to draw the ritual circle and sigils, and the demon takes it. And then, finding a spare stretch of wall, Azatothoth scrawls out a symbol Kevin doesn't recognise.

"This is a locus symbol for a very specific place on the Fourth," the demon explains. "Concentrate on it when you're shaping the planar energy, and it should cause the other opening of the gateway to appear in the location in question. And then hope that my guy is home, or all of this will get infinitely trickier."

"It's… that simple?" Kevin manages, in the tone of one who doesn't think any of this is remotely simple.

Azatothoth nods. "Yep. Open the gateway, get him here, and then we'll sort out this whole mess."

And he steps back, leaving the centre of the floor clear. "The room is yours, _tereta_."

He only usually calls Kevin this – a word meaning 'master of ceremonies' – when he's in a good mood. Which means – given that he is not in a good mood – the demon is trying very, very hard to cheer Kevin up.

Which is worrying.

Opening a planar gateway also requires a ritual circle, but – given that it will be a gateway to the Fourth Infernal Plane – the one Kevin used to summon Azatothoth is already the right style, so he doesn't need to start drawing anything else out. Though he adds a couple of extra wards, just in case.

Kevin really wishes he had more time to prepare. And several people to help. But he has neither. All he has is a fair amount of research and twenty years' summoning experience, and a desperate need to make this work.

Maybe it will be enough.

He holds out his hands, takes a deep breath, and begins to chant for the third time today. Unlike with other rituals, the chant is actually the least important part of this particular ceremony, and exists mostly to focus the invoker's mind. Some people even write their own, though right now Kevin is using the only one he knows: a standard chant based upon the energies of the Fourth.

He focuses on the symbol Azzie has drawn out. He lets it fill up his mind. Lets it flow through his thoughts. Lets it…

…From out of nowhere, there's a vibrant flash of red light, and a sound like thunder, and then reality itself rips open in the centre of the circle.

Kevin gasps, barely managing to keep his footing, not sure whether to be alarmed or relieved. And _then_ … there is blood. A lot of blood. It's prevalent on the Fourth Infernal Plane, which means now it is prevalent here, spilling out from that planar rift.

"Djarn!" Azatothoth calls. "Come on, don't make me wait!"

There's a heavy pause, and then a figure steps through the glowing, rippling tear in reality. The newcomer is also humanoid in shape: a little shorter than Kevin, with a whole ring of short horns on his otherwise hairless head, and eyes a vibrant amber. He's dressed in an outfit that seems to consist mostly of metal plates and buckles, and is – like everything else on his plane of origin – wholly drenched in blood.

"Azatothoth," the newcomer says. "Is there something I can do for you? And… wait, are we on the _human_ plane?"

"We are," Azatothoth rumbles, as if he's a little affronted by the idea. "Djarn the Administrator, may I present Kevin, of Desert Bluffs."

Djarn turns his amber eyes in Kevin's direction, and promptly stares. "…Strexcorp's fixer. I've heard the stories."

"…All good, I hope?" Kevin tries.

"Most assuredly not," Djarn answers. "Why am I here?"

"You know why you're here," Azatothoth says, flatly. "I need you to cancel a soul-bind for me, and I need it kept off the books."

"You… wait." Djarn stops, looking between the other demon and the human. "You want me to break a _Strex_ soul-bind?"

"Not… exactly," Azatothoth replies. "Kevin and I have just broken _our_ Strex soul-bind, so we can establish a private bind instead. But, whilst I was performing the background check…"

"Oh, I see, your human is bound to someone else as well," Djarn cuts in, with a little eyeroll. "Honestly, does _anyone_ keep to the rules anymore? Well, come on, out with it. Which plane is the other demon from?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," Azatothoth now says, very carefully. "It isn't a standard bind. It's one of the… _old_ sort."

Djarn stares at him. "Oh. _Oh_. Really? I haven't broken one of those in a _very_ long time. Who is it with?"

"Derek Hartley," Azatothoth answers, giving the other demon a _very_ odd look.

"…Is this some kind of set-up?" Djarn manages, actually going pale. And why is his response to finding out about this so similar to Azzie's?

What aren't they saying? Kevin doesn't know. And he's not sure he wants to.

"No," Azatothoth replies, as patiently as he can. "It isn't. Now… can you break the bind or not?

"Of course I can do it. What kind of talentless hack do you take me for?"

"I knew you wouldn't let me down," Azatothoth says, patting the rather smaller demon on the shoulder, which has the effect of making Djarn stagger slightly.

"…Yes. Well. If I'm going to do this, I'd better get on with it," Djarn says, evidently trying to compose himself. He takes a step closer to Kevin, looking him up and down. "I thought you'd be taller."

"I could say the same," Kevin manages, trying to sound faux-bright and normal and not like his world feels as though it's imploding around him. "How does this work?"

"Come now, if I told you that, I'd be out of a job," Djarn points out. "Plus I can't just go spilling planar secrets to a _human_. No offence."

Kevin holds up his hands, as if to be placatory, but then remembers the different connotations that gesture has on the Fourth and drops his hands again all at once, before Djarn gets affronted. "But… you can do this?" he says. "Without Mr Hartley knowing?"

"Yes," Djarn replies. "Yes, I can. But only if you _swear to me_ that you'll never mention my involvement. The last thing I want is… is _him_ coming after me."

"I won't say a word," Kevin promises. "I swear to you. Now… _please_ … break this soul-bind."

The sooner the better. He might technically have lived with this second bind for years, but he didn't know about it. And now he does… he feels cold, right to his core.

Djarn nods. "All right. Hold still."

He reaches out, laying one hand on Kevin's head, and one on his chest. There's a silent moment, and then Djarn chants an incantation in a language Kevin can't even identify. There's a pulse of red light, and a strange sensation like pressure all the way through him, with a distinct edge of _chilliness_ in its wake.

And then Djarn steps back. "How do you feel?"

"…Fine. I feel fine." This is a lie. Kevin does not feel fine. But this isn't a result of Djarn's actions, so it's a functional truth.

"Good. It's done."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You're… sure?"

"I am very sure. Your soul-bind to the head of Strexcorp is now broken. Congratulations."

Kevin wonders if he should feel different. But how are you even supposed to feel in these situations? On some level, he can sense that his connection to Azzie is gone, and he realises he doesn't like that at all. And as for the _other_ bind…

…well. He never knew it was there. And now it _isn't_ there. And, though he's still horrified by the fact it ever existed in the first place… he's also aware that breaking the bind in secret leaves him with an astonishingly dangerous hold-card, should he ever need to play it.

He just has to pray he never does.

"I believe our business here is concluded, gentlemen," Djarn says, after a moment. "Unless you have any _other_ surprises for me, I would rather like to return to the Fourth. This plane is unnecessarily cold. And _dry_."

"Go," Azatothoth replies. "I'll be in touch."

"I don't doubt it, Adjunct," Djarn answers, and then he gives Kevin a nod. "Fixer."

"…Administrator," Kevin manages.

And Djarn turns back to the planar gateway, stepping through it and vanishing all at once.

In the silence that prevails, Azatothoth turns to look at Kevin, with the strangest flicker in his eyes. "…I'm not going to ask if you're all right."

"Because you don't do that? Or because I'm obviously not?"

"…Both."

"Well… I'm not," Kevin says. "But I will be. I may have just inadvertently saved myself from something far worse. For now… we need to re-establish our soul-bind. That is… if you'll still have me."

Azatothoth folds his arms. "Eviscerating you would be very therapeutic," he says. "But… we did have a deal. And I can't help thinking you might be summoning me to a _very_ large battle sometime soon."

"You're not wrong about that," Kevin replies, realising he doesn't relish the thought nearly as much as he once would have. But… it still has a certain draw, especially in the light of recent events.

He holds out a hand. "Shall we?"

Azatothoth rumbles something incoherent and reaches to take Kevin's hand. They lock eyes, and then begin to recite the traditional binding incantation in unison, concluding it with a (very firm) handshake.

And… _oh_ , that's better. Kevin feels the new bind snap into place. It fades out of his awareness almost immediately, but knowing it's there is oddly soothing.

" _Well_ ," Azatothoth says, stepping back. "This has been… _interesting_. No doubt I'll be seeing you again very soon."

"I'd count on it, if I were you," Kevin replies. "For now…" He gestures towards the planar rift. "…You might as well head home through this thing. Just don't expect full-blown gateways to become a regular feature. I'm not magic."

Azatothoth smirks. "Some would beg to differ, tereta."

And, giving Kevin a nod, he steps up to the gateway and paces through it.

And Kevin is alone.

In the stillness that follows, he's left with a headful of thoughts and no way of processing them all at once. The only thing he can do is focus on the moment. He has to close this gateway before anything untoward comes through it.

Well. If he can _open_ the thing, he can shut it. Right?

His first attempt doesn't go so well. He makes it all the way through the incantation, shouting out the sealing words, but the flickering rift simply doesn't want to comply. So he tries again, concentrating harder; trying to push any distracting thoughts out of his head.

It helps. This time, the sealing words take effect, and the gateway seems to collapse in on itself, closing up in a spiral of light, and fading out of existence.

It's over. It's _done_.

…And that's when he hears movement, just beyond the propped-open door. Movement that nearly makes his heart stop.

 _Footsteps_.

Someone has followed him in here.


	5. If Your Heart's Still Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the house-that-doesn't-exist sequence! I had a ridiculous amount of fun re-telling this from Kevin's point of view.
> 
> Plus, I finally got to bring Carlos and Cecil into this one properly, and that's good, because I missed them.

The intruder is right on the other side of the door.

Kevin draws his knife quickly. He has only a second to try to work out who it might be – and what they might want, and whether he might have to kill them – before the intruder pushes the door open. He turns at once, blade held out in front of him, ready to do whatever is necessary.

And his heart nearly stops all over again. It isn't one intruder. It's two.

It's _them_. Cecil and Carlos. Here. Right here. Both of them. Right now.

And suddenly Kevin doesn't know whether to be overjoyed or doubly-horrified.

"You?!" he exclaims, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He remembers to lower the knife, not wanting to seem overly hostile. Maybe just hostile enough. At least until he knows precisely _how_ mad at him they are, for what happened yesterday.

" _You_ ," Cecil growls, stepping up to Kevin and slapping him roughly across the jaw before he can react. "Did I not tell you to stay away from my boyfriend?!"

Well, OK. He's upset. That's understandable. Though Kevin can't help being a little hurt by it all the same, given that he was technically trying to help. At great personal risk. Again. He backs off, instinct making him raise the knife once more.

" _He_ called _me_ ," he hisses, throwing a glare in Carlos' direction before turning his attention back to Cecil.

This is not going at all well so far. But, given what Kevin has just been through – what he's just discovered – it's no small wonder he isn't curled in a ball in the corner.

Part of him wants to be. Though he can't let that show.

Cecil folds his arms. "I think you are failing to notice the part where these things happen because _you_ wind my Carlos up in the first place, Kevin!"

Oh no, no. That's not fair. Well. It's slightly not fair. It was a two-way process, after all.

"I think _you_ are failing to notice the part where your Carlos has _tastes_ , Cecil," Kevin retorts.

Significant tastes. Tastes he would _really_ like to help the man explore, and… OK, seriously, he needs not to be having these thoughts. At all. Ever.

Carlos blushes fiercely. "Will the two of you stop?!" he exclaims

"I'm not done with him yet!" Cecil replies, glaring at Kevin some more. Which should _not_ be as hot as it is.

Help. Merciless Azatothoth, help. This is why he shouldn't be left alone with the two of them.

"And not only did you _seduce_ my Carlos," Cecil goes on, "you then proceeded to _betray_ him to Strexcorp!"

"So that he could rescue _you!_ " Kevin retorts, now sounding as affronted as he feels. Do they not realise the risks he's taking? "I slipped Carlos the key right before the enforcers grabbed him and then made sure they locked him up with you. Do you know how hard it is to get hold of one of those keys? What I had to _do?_ "

They don't know. And they never will. _Never_.

"And it worked, didn't it?" he goes on. "You got out faster than I expected! The sun hadn't even risen before the enforcers were going _ballistic_ and the Management Board was calling people in to give them severance packages!"

"…I don't want to know what constitutes a severance package in Strexcorp, do I?" Carlos murmurs.

"No, Carlos, you don't," Kevin replies, flatly; speaking without thinking. "If I told you, you'd do that thing where you flip out and run off again, and I don't know how much more of that I can take."

OK, that was definitely too sharp. How is he supposed to play this? Sharp makes him look hostile. Subdued makes him look weak. Nothing makes him look like anything other than an agent of the enemy.

"And now," Cecil cuts back in, "now you're in the house that doesn't exist, doing…" 

He looks around, then gestures widely at the room, which… OK, it does look a little insane in here. An _awful_ lot of blood got through that planar gateway before Kevin closed it, and there are a _great_ many arcane symbols scrawled on every flat surface.

"Just what _are_ you doing?"

How is Kevin supposed to answer this? _'Breaking a company soul-bind with my demon – the same one who nearly scared Carlos to death two and a half years ago – and establishing a private bind, so that my boss can't revoke our connection and leave me helpless and alone the moment I reveal I've been working against him for days? And, in the process, discovering I've been secretly soul-bound to said same boss for years, which he could have used to make me kill both of you and everyone you love without **hesitation** '_?

No. They are simply not ready for the truth. And, in honesty, he'd rather not talk about it.

"If you _must_ know, I was performing a very ancient and powerful ritual," he answers, instead. "It wasn't easy and it's a good thing you didn't interrupt sooner, because you don't want to know what side-effects that might have caused."

Such as my boss being able to turn me into an unflinching, remorseless killer. As opposed to… whatever I am now.

"What kind of ancient and powerful ritual?" Cecil demands.

"It's _personal_ ," Kevin insists, desperately trying to get his double to drop the matter. "If you must know, I was communing with my demon."

Which is… mostly true. It isn't _un_ true.

"And you needed to break into the house that doesn't exist to do that?" Carlos now asks.

Always the smart one. Luckily, Kevin has a way to sidestep this time.

"I didn't break in, I have a key," he replies, pulling his own key from under his shirt – where it's hanging around his neck – and letting them both see it. Letting them both recognise it as identical to the one he gave to Carlos.

OK. _Visually_ identical, at least.

"And yes," he goes on, "I needed to do it here. I needed to do it somewhere that _no one_ would be able to detect. Where better than in the basement of a non-existent house?"

"…Why?" Carlos asks, tone full of suspicion.

"Because it's _private_ ," Kevin re-iterates.

He's not going to tell them. Not if they ask all day. Not if they stand there and stare at him: the world's most beautiful man and his own, startlingly alluring double.

No.

"And where did all the blood come from?" Cecil demands, with a very unimpressed look in his wonderful blue eyes.

…Stop getting distracted…

"Have you been murdering people again? There had better not be bodies in the closet."

Kevin sighs. "There isn't a closet in here," he points out, flatly. "And the blood came from the Fourth Infernal Plane. There's a _lot_ of blood on the Fourth Infernal Plane and it tends to seep through if you try to hold a gateway open for longer than a couple of seconds."

He says this like it _wasn't_ something of a shock to him. Not that he _minds_ the blood, but still.

Cecil looks stunned. "You were holding open a gateway to the Fourth Infernal Plane?!"

"I _told_ you, I was _communing with my demon!_ " Kevin replies, unable to stop his voice going high-pitched as he does, and _seriously_ wishing Cecil would drop this line of questioning and ask something else. Literally _anything_ else.

"Will you both _stop?!_ " Carlos exclaims.

Both Kevin and Cecil fall silent for a long moment. It is not an enjoyable silence.

"…Better," Carlos says, eventually. "Now. I think we need to discuss this sensibly and rationally and using our _indoor_ voices."

"What is there to discuss?" Kevin asks, letting his voice go suddenly calm and cheery, even though he doesn't feel it. Maybe the best option here is to change the subject. And… to play the one hold-card he has left where these two are concerned.

"I assume you're here for John Peters?"

This seems to focus both Cecil and Carlos' minds somewhat. "That's right," Cecil replies. "So we can save the town from your maniac employers."

Harsh. True.

" _Unfortunately_ ," Carlos cuts across, evidently trying to stop the conversation spiralling out of control again, "this house seems to defy physics on an alarming scale."

Like you wouldn't believe, Kevin thinks. And would probably _love_ , if you had time to explore it properly. And…

…OK, no, focus.

"Oh, _that?_ " he says, with a little wave. It's at this point he realises his knife is still drawn, and he takes the opportunity to slip it back into its sheath. And to give Cecil quite a look as he does. "That's just one of its little quirks."

Carlos seems surprised. "You've been here before?"

Yet another question for which they're not getting anything close to the true answer.

Kevin shrugs. "Several times, since I came to town. It reminds me of the house I grew up in… and I _miss_ Desert Bluffs, you know. Even though Night Vale is lovely too. Plus, sometimes I need to go somewhere… _off the grid_."

"Wait… this is where you wanted to bring us that day?" Cecil asks, looking surprised.

"That's right," Kevin replies. "You're just lucky they're not paying undivided attention to you, or they would have realised you were staying with _your own sister_ ages ago. It isn't exactly _covert_ , Cecil."

You're terrible at revolutions. Really, very terrible.

"Worked though, didn't it?" Cecil retorts.

Kevin gives him a flat look. "Yes. It worked. Someday I'll tell you where I hid all the bodies to make _sure_ it worked…"

Carlos rubs a hand over his eyes. "I don't want to know," he murmurs in alarm. "I don't want to know…"

It's at this point that Cecil gives Kevin a strange look. "So if you've been here before… you must know the way out."

Oh. Oh. They want his help. They're _lost_.

Possibly he gets to enjoy this part a little. Because he can.

He smiles. "That's right," he says, smoothly. "I know where John Peters is too. I could take you to him, if you'd like…"

"Yes," Cecil replies. "That would help matters along."

Kevin knows he shouldn't do what he does next. But he _does_ do it, because he's on edge, and having a bad day, and being around these two is distracting as all hell.

His smile brightens, betraying nothing. "Say _please_."

Cecil glares. It's _delicious_. " _Now_."

Kevin folds his arms, most immovable expression in place – partly for effect, and partly to hide the shiver that runs through him at Cecil's tone. "You want my help, you're going to have to be nice to me for once. Otherwise, good luck trying to get out of this place, never mind locate the farmer you know…"

This makes Cecil's glare intensify, and he takes a step closer, so they're face to face again. "I do _not_ have to be nice to you," he retorts.

And that's when Carlos moves. Kevin doesn't know what the man is thinking, but – all of a sudden – Carlos steps between the pair of them, so he has Cecil right behind him and Kevin right in front, and the proximity is _dizzying_.

And the look in Carlos' eyes is so reminiscent of days past that Kevin suddenly can't breathe.

" _Please_ ," Carlos says.

One word. One little word. That's it. That's all it takes. And all of a sudden, with both of them so close, Kevin can suddenly imagine a world where…

…no. No. Don't think it. The mere possibility might be enough to destroy him, and he can't let that happen now.

"…All right," he manages, as smoothly as he can, putting a hand on Carlos' arm.

Just for a moment. Just one tiny moment. And then he has to step back before he loses himself in that moment forever.

"Come along, then," Kevin says, bright and cheery and repressing _everything_. "We just need to head upstairs and I'll show you where…"

It's at this point that he turns to the door, which the other two did not bother to keep propped open when they first stormed in here.

He sighs. "… _Seriously?_ I prop the door open and you just let it close without even stopping to think why I might do something like that?"

"I had other things on my mind!" Cecil replies, tone oddly defensive.

Kevin folds his arms. "Evidently! This might take somewhat longer now. I hope you're happy."

" _Euphoric_ ," Cecil answers, dryly.

Some days you just can't win. Apparently these days include _all_ encounters with your ex and your double. Especially if it's both of them at once.

Well. This really _is_ going to take longer. Shaking his head, Kevin paces over to the door and pushes it open. Beyond, there is a long, thin passageway with another lone door at the far end; dimly-lit and ominous.

Oh dear. That's not a good start.

"…Yeah, we don't want to go down there," he manages.

"Why not?" Cecil asks.

"Well, you know before when we were talking about bodies..?"

"Yes?"

"…We don't want to go down there."

Carlos shudders visibly. "This house was an important scientific curiosity!" he exclaims. "Please tell me you haven't filled it with bodies?"

"…Not all of it…"

Just one room. Though it's quite a big room, and there are quite a lot of bodies.

And I did it to save your lives. Mostly. Occasionally it was to save mine.

So I can save yours.

Perhaps mercifully, Cecil reaches to shut the door, pauses, and then opens it again.

This time there is a stairwell beyond: brightly-lit, and leading down.

"…I thought we were in the basement?" Carlos says.

Kevin sighs. It took him a long time to work out even a vague logic to this place, and right now he lacks both the time and the patience to explain it. Even to Carlos.

"We were," he answers. "But you shut the door. When you shut the door, the house has a tendency to… reorganise itself. It can do that, you see, because it doesn't actually exist."

"So how do we get out?" Cecil asks.

"You keep the doors propped open!" Kevin exclaims. "Though as a last resort, you can also bring along someone who has explored the house at length before. Which, in this case, would be me. So stay close and _don't_ touch any doors without asking me first!"

Cecil glares at him some more. Carlos just shuts his eyes for a moment, though it's clear – if you know him, which Kevin evidently still does – that the man is silently counting to ten in his head.

"…He's adorable when he does that, isn't he?" Kevin says to Cecil; unable (or unwilling) to stop himself.

Cecil doesn't deign to reply to this, so Kevin flashes the man his brightest smile and leads the way through the door, gesturing for the other two to follow him.

This is going to be something of an experience.

***

Their journey through the house that doesn't exist is a little awkward.

Cecil and Carlos are quiet, for the most part, though Carlos is clearly fascinated by the place and obviously wants to stop and study it in more depth. The look he gets in his eyes when he's like this is heart-wrenchingly cute, and Kevin has to make himself concentrate on what he's actually doing.

The alternative involves him wanting to curl up in a ball in the corner again. And that is not a state of mind he enjoys, whatever the reason.

Cecil, meanwhile, spends most of his time giving Kevin a series of very odd looks when he thinks Kevin isn't paying attention, and Kevin isn't sure what the looks mean.

Especially because they aren't all hostile. In fact… most of them aren't.

See? Odd.

Eventually, they reach a passage where the door at the end is propped open, and there is a little sun chalked on the wall, and Kevin can't help beaming at the sight of it – partly pleased by his own ingenuity, and partly pleased because he _has_ actually found the way out.

"Aha, thank goodness," he says, bouncing on his heels. "This way."

And he leads them out into a hallway: the entrance hallway of the house, where the front door is. And… is it his imagination, or is the daylight glowing under the front door a little too _orange_..?

…don't think it. Not now. Focus on the task in hand.

"Is that the front door?" Carlos asks.

"Yep!" Kevin tells him, hoping against hope that it _is_ just daylight he can see, and not… not the alternative. "Told you."

"What about John Peters?" Cecil cuts in. "You know, the farmer?"

Kevin pats him on the arm, which gets him something of a glare from Cecil, albeit with a touch of that odd look that he doesn't quite seem able to lose. "As if I'd forget something so important," he answers. "Follow me."

And he heads over to the door opposite the one they've come out through, knocking three times, which takes the other two visibly by surprise.

"…What are you doing?" Carlos asks, clearly intrigued.

His hours of exploration inside the house really are paying off, and Kevin can't help feeling pleased about that.

"Well, sometimes it's easier to travel through these particular doors if there's someone on the other side to open them for you," he explains. "That way, you end up where you wanted to be. Plus, John is trapped in a _very_ odd little time loop that doesn't even fit with the logic of the rest of the house. If you don't get him to let you in, but you manage to find the room where he is anyway… you sort of end up there but not there. OK, no, it's more that _he's_ there but not there. You can see him but he can't see you, and you can't make any kind of physical contact."

In other words, it's _super_ weird.

"…You have spent way too much time in this place," Carlos mutters.

Oh, oh, oh, now Kevin gets to show off. Possibly he's enjoying himself a little more than he should.

Possibly he doesn't care.

"Actually not as long as you think," he says. "Time doesn't run at the same speed in here as it does out in the world. From what I can tell… it's about eight times faster inside the house." He beams at Carlos, sure he'll be loving this. "Are you impressed?"

"'Deeply concerned' would be closer," Carlos replies, which isn't technically a 'no'. "So for every minute that passes on the outside, eight minutes pass in here?"

"Roughly speaking, yes. Not for John, though. I can't even begin to fathom how it works for John."

Cecil looks alarmed. "And you wanted us to _hide out_ in this place?"

"Sure I did," Kevin replies, not sure why his double believes this would be a bad idea. "Think how much you could get done if time outside is passing so much slower. How much you could have _planned_."

Plus, your alternative idea was to go and hide out at your sister's house. And that's just silly.

"…Also time doesn't exist," Carlos adds, compulsively. "So exactly what all this is… I don't know."

Kevin just keeps beaming. You can hide so much with a smile. "Probably best not to ask," he suggests.

Carlos gives him a flat look. "I'm a scientist. I can't _not_ ask."

Kevin gives him a flat look back, then turns to the door and knocks on it again. And, seconds later, there come three knocks in reply, before the door opens from within.

Beyond is a room that seems like so many of the others: wood-panelled, and empty except for several photographs of lighthouses and windows… and a man standing in front of them, dressed in vibrant plaid, and wearing a straw hat and a surprised look.

"…What the heck is going on?" asks John Peters.

"John!" Cecil exclaims. "That's really you, isn't it?"

John shrugs. "Near as I can tell. And that's you, as opposed to… you know, _him?_ "

Kevin rolls his eyes. "I am standing right here! And I just brought these two to rescue you, so you could at least be civil!"

"Civil?" John repeats. "With a guy from Desert Bluffs? Please!"

This gets him something of a glower. Which he deserves.

"Where'd you go, anyway?" John says to Kevin, voice and eyes full of suspicion. "I've been waiting in here nearly ten minutes!"

Ten minutes. Wow. That's… a little terrifying. And slightly awesome.

"Uh, no," Kevin tells him, "you've been waiting in there nearly ten _days_ , in outside time at least. And from what I hear, you've been in this house rather longer."

John looks confused.

"…Time doesn't exist, remember," Carlos points out, helpfully.

"…Yes, that," Cecil agrees. "We'll go with that."

Carlos turns to John. "We need to get you out of here," he says. "Will you come with us?"

"I can't," John replies. "Not until I've figured out what these photographs mean."

It's a question Kevin has been considering too, but it's never been important enough to warrant significant attention. Still. If it's ever relevant, he's sure he'll work it out then.

"But you've been in here for months!" Cecil exclaims. "And we need you out in town as soon as possible!"

"Months?" John repeats. "Really? It doesn't feel like months."

"Not to you, it doesn't," Carlos says. "But it is."

They seriously could talk in circles all day. Kevin doesn't want to have to motivate them, but… maybe he should. Maybe they need to know what they're really up against.

Maybe then they'll understand.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to seem anything other than calm or level.

"…Look, maybe this would be a lot easier if I just showed you…" he says.

The other three all turn to him in surprise. "Showed us?" John asks, tone still suspicious.

"Yes," Kevin replies. "Come on."

And he leads the way into the hall. John comes too, which increases the likelihood that they'll actually be able to get him out of the house at last. But first… Kevin needs to show them. Something none of them will want to see.

"The thing with this house," he starts out, "is that the doors like to lead to different places, on account of not actually existing. The doors inside can lead to any one of dozens of rooms inside the house. The doors leading out – both the front and the back – can lead to any one of about five external locations; all places where the house doesn't exist. Night Vale is the main one and, more often than not, they'll lead you out into the Desert Creek development, but occasionally… occasionally they go somewhere else. And at least a couple of them are… well, let me show you…"

Deep breath. Calm thoughts. Maybe keep one hand on his knife, as if that might somehow help.

Slowly, Kevin approaches the front door of the house, gripping the handle with his free hand and pulling it open just enough to peer out through the crack. And… his heart sinks. Even though this is what he wanted.

"…Ah," he murmurs, "right one first time…"

Deeper breath. Calmer thoughts. And then Kevin pulls the door open wide, filling the hallway with light: a harsh, oppressive light that seems to push against everything it touches.

"…What _is_ that?" Cecil exclaims, shielding his own eyes with his hand.

"Just look," Kevin tells him, tone flat; not quite sure how he could answer this if he tried.

Beyond the door is that vast, empty desert, with the mountain at its centre and the blinking light atop the mountain… a light that he understands, now, must be coming from the very lighthouse that's in all these pictures.

And, beyond the mountain, on the horizon, there is the _light_ : pervasive and permeating and intrusive. And… beautiful, in the most terrible way imaginable.

"That's the lighthouse!" John exclaims, though how he knows is impossible to say. Maybe the same way Kevin does. Because he just _knows_. "Up there, on the mountain. The lighthouse is… a beacon? A warning?"

Oh… of course. Why didn't he think of that?

"That's what lighthouses are," Kevin replies, trying to keep acting like he isn't terrified out of his mind.

Which he is.

"What is that light?" Cecil asks, sounding deeply alarmed as well.

"That's what the lighthouse is warning against," Kevin replies. "It is a light. A presence. It insists, it conquers, it _devours_."

His whole body goes cold. But… he has to tell them. He has to, or all of this was for nothing.

"…It is a Smiling God. _The_ Smiling God. The Smiling God in which we all must believe."

Strexcorp's god. The Joyous Congregation's god. The Summer-Without-End.

Why does it feel so _cold_?

"It's… brighter than it was before…" Cecil manages.

"I know," Kevin replies, wondering when else they've seen it, but not daring to ask. "It's almost ready."

"…Ready?" John says, voice a little hollow.

"Oh yes," Kevin answers. "Ready. Ready to open the unopening door and cross over… to find a new town to devour…"

He wonders if Desert Bluffs could ever recover from what has been done to it. But right now… he doesn't know.

And that hurts.

Unable to keep looking at that light, Kevin pushes the door shut, leaving them in sudden dimness.

"We need you to help stop it," Cecil says to John. "Please."

John looks rattled. "Say no more," he agrees. "Let's go."

A good plan. Kevin tries the door again, peering out to see a great swathe of trees, and shuts the door with a shake of his head.

"No good?" Carlos asks.

"No. Forest. I don't like that forest, it talks to me."

The second time, he's in luck, and opens the door wide to reveal the Desert Creek development, bathed in natural, normal sunshine. At the far end of the front garden, a small gaggle of scientists are clustered around their van, seemingly running tests of some sort.

Hearing the door open, the scientists look over in surprise as the four men come walking out of the house. As they do, one gives a little whoop of triumph, and two of the others shriek in horror and leap inside the van.

The last two – a nervous-looking man and a red-headed woman – glance at each other and grip hands, cautiously walking closer to meet the group coming down from the house.

"…T-that was quick…" the nervous man says. "You've only been gone a few moments. I… guessed you must have gotten inside when that guy who was chasing you came around the house again and then ran off."

Someone else was here? Not good. "What guy?" Kevin asks at once.

The nervous man backs away, trying to act like he isn't hiding behind the red-headed woman. "There was a guy," he manages. "He looked… well, he looked just like you," and he gestures to John. "But he wasn't you."

Realisation dawns. "Oh, that must have been James Paulson," Kevin replies. "The farmer, you know? He's John's double from over my way. Grows simply _sublime_ oranges."

Possibly don't mention the oranges. Not after the incident.

"He attacked us!" Cecil exclaims. "He's the one who chased us inside in the first place!"

But who was he here looking for? For John? For Cecil and Carlos? Or…

"…I do hope he wasn't looking for me," Kevin says, as levelly as he can. "That would be a bad sign. Not that it's going to make much of a difference before long…"

It isn't. By tomorrow evening, one way or another, all of this will be over. Which is equal parts a relief and the _exact_ opposite.

Kevin manages his brightest smile. "Well, this certainly has been fun. I have… places I should be, and no doubt you lot have a great deal of subversive planning to get on with. So… I'll see you at the end…"

He has to go. He has to go now, before he can't. He allows himself one last look at Carlos and Cecil, then turns and heads off down the street, to where his car is parked, humming as he goes. The picture of nonchalance.

All lies.

He climbs into the car, gripping the wheel in both hands, and glancing in the rear-view mirror at the group still talking on the roadside. He'd give anything to stay with them. Anything to help them.

But… no. All he can do is this. All he can do is drive off, the events of the day so far rapidly catching up with him.

It's a lot to process. A lot. But… he's done what he needs to do. He's privately soul-bound to Azzie. And he is apparently no longer secretly soul-bound to Mr Hartley.

And he doesn't want to think about that part at all.

Well. This is it.

One way or another, tomorrow, it ends.


	6. Saying Things That You Can't Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, dear readers, as I said at the start, I spent a long time trying to work out how to do this without re-telling the entire Battle of Night Vale. I was concerned that it would be too much duplication, but at the same time I knew it would be important for the narrative flow of this particular fic. And, when I got to the crucial point, I realised that leaving it out simply wouldn't work. So I didn't.
> 
> I know this is a little indulgent. I also know that the original sequence is my favourite in the entire Chiralityverse series, so getting to play with it again really was more of a draw than I admitted to myself at first! Plus, telling it from Kevin's point of view proved to be remarkably cathartic, to say nothing of flat-out agonising at the same time.
> 
> Well. Here you go. I hope you enjoy this one - which is, incidentally, now the second-longest single chapter in the whole series. Because, as noted earlier, this is what happens when I give Kevin POV!

When Kevin wakes up the next morning, it doesn't feel real.

This is it. The day. The day he's been waiting for, preparing for, planning for. _Dreading_. He expected to feel more scared at this point, but honestly he doesn't feel much of anything at all.

What matters is surviving. Surviving long enough to make sure Cecil and Carlos survive. Maybe even surviving long enough to help save Night Vale from Strex. From Hartley.

From the Smiling God.

What happens after that, Kevin doesn't know. If he lives to see it, he'll deal with it then. If not… there's no point wasting what time he has left worrying about it.

He gets up early, and goes outside, and sits in the sunlight. The natural, real, wonderful sunlight. He lifts his head to it, eyes closed, letting it play over his face. Letting the warmth fill him up, chasing back the cold, and the thoughts that refuse to shift.

He can do this. He's survived so much over the years. Three hostile takeovers. Two society weddings. _The sandstorm_.

He can do this.

He _will_ do this.

***

It begins at noon.

Kevin realises, at this point, that he doesn't know precisely how all this is going to go. He knows Mr Hartley plans to open the unopening door, but he doesn't know what else might happen. And this means he's as surprised as everyone else in Night Vale when the sun – having halted in the sky for a full hour – begins to _unravel_.

It's like nothing he's ever seen before. He's seen the echo of the Smiling God hang in the sky for days at a time. Seen sunsets collide with sunrises. But he has never seen the sun, the _actual_ sun, come apart like this. The glowing orb travels slowly but steadily, curving around and around, leaving a glowing spiral of unfading light in its wake, drawn across the whole dome of the sky. Eventually, it finally comes to a halt in the west, a fraction of its normal size: like a distant star on an alien world.

When it stops, almost immediately, Kevin's cellphone rings.

It's Derek Hartley.

"Sir?" he says, answering the call.

"Kevin," comes Hartley's voice, and he sounds a mixture of tired and euphoric. "Do you like our handiwork?"

Kevin looks up at the sky. "This was you?"

"Oh yes," Hartley tells him. "Myself and the rest of the board just performed a _very_ ancient and powerful ritual: the last step in the preparations for this afternoon. Impressive, isn't it?"

"It's certainly something," Kevin manages, keeping his voice level.

"Our people are already starting to gather in the square close to the unopening door," Hartley now says. "I'll see you soon. I want you by my side for our moment of triumph."

"I'll be there, sir," Kevin answers. Which he will. But, if he's played this right, there will be no triumph for Strexcorp.

Not this time.

"I look forward to it," Hartley tells him.

And they hang up.

And in the silence that prevails, Kevin knows. This is it. No turning back.

After two decades in service to Strexcorp, this is where it ends.

***

By the time Kevin arrives at the square outside the Dog Park, it's a sea of people.

Well. No. It's _two_ seas, on opposite sides, with an open stretch between them, where the unopening door stands. And there's simply no getting around the fact that the people of Strexcorp and the people of Night Vale are squaring up to each other, like two armies facing off across a battlefield.

Kevin lurks in the crowd, staying out of sight, not wanting to make his move until he has to. It's easier this way.

Except that nothing about this is easy. Although, with every passing moment, that strange sense of calm starts to fill him up again: an acceptance of whatever is to come. Because, whatever it is, it will be on _his_ terms.

Not Strexcorp's. Not Hartley's. _His_.

Just before 3pm, a black limo pulls up, and all five members of the Management Board step from it. They're dressed in their usual business suits, although Kevin is almost surprised that they haven't turned up in robes.

In the distance, an unseen clock tower – Night Vale's supposed _invisible_ clock tower – chimes out: once, twice, thrice.

 _Silence_.

And then, at the head of the Strexcorp side, Derek Hartley steps forward.

"Oh my," he starts out, sounding truly delighted, and still a little high from the ritual he and the board have already performed. "I must say, it's such a delight to see so many of the people of Night Vale here today. It's a testament to the growing union between our two wonderful towns that all of you have come… and, trust me, you'll be glad you did. This is a day destined to be remembered forever; a day we will all hold in our hearts until they beat no more."

"But not for the reasons you think!"

Kevin feels his stomach lurch, and his chest ache with horror, because it's Cecil's voice that carries over the square. _Cecil_. Why is he drawing attention to himself now?

…Why does he have to be so damnably wonderful?

Cecil steps forward from the Night Valean crowd, staring across the square with defiance in his eyes. And then, as if this moment couldn't possibly get any worse – or any better – Carlos steps up next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and they pace forward to where Hartley is standing, close to the old oak door.

And Derek Hartley _smiles_ , in a way that makes Kevin's blood go cold. He hasn't even stopped to think about what would happen the first time Hartley met Cecil… but, now he's watching that very scenario, he realises this was a dangerous omission.

Hartley, after all, has _quite_ a thing for Kevin. Which means meeting his double is likely to be…

…don't think it, don't think it…

"Well, well," Hartley says, tone ringing with delight. "So I meet you in person at last… Kevin's double. I must say, of all the doubles I've met since coming to Night Vale, you're the one I was most _excited_ for. I know this is stating the obvious, but you are _just_ like him… apart from the eyes, of course. The people of Desert Bluffs have such _distinctive_ eyes, don't they? And I see you brought your troublemaking scientist, the man _without_ a double. Not from around here, are you?"

"Not originally," Carlos replies. "Nor, it would seem, are the five of you."

…oh, don't draw attention to it…

"Very true," Hartley says, with a dismissive little wave. "But we're here now. As are you." He looks between the two of them, head on one side. "Did you have something specific to say to me?"

"Yes," Cecil replies, as Carlos grips his hand supportively. "This has gone on long enough. We, the people of Night Vale, want you out. If you agree to go, we'll let you depart in peace. If not… we'll do what has to be done."

Kevin closes his eyes for a moment. His double is too wonderful for words. And walking into something he might never walk out of.

Or worse.

Hartley stares at Cecil for a moment, as if stunned, and then laughs: mirthless and terrible and clearly high on power.

"…By the Smiling God, that is _priceless_ ," he exclaims. "So you and your little bunch of locals have come to kick us out? Oh, please tell me you've got torches and pitchforks hidden in that bedraggled crowd of yours? This tiny backwater was practically in the Stone Age before Strexcorp got here. You should be thanking us."

"Thanking you?" Cecil repeats. " _Thanking you?_ You invaded our town, took over our lives, abducted and _murdered_ our citizens. And now you bring us here, to _that_ door. We know what's on the other side of it. We know what you're planning to inflict on us."

Hartley smiles again, but he's clearly a little annoyed now. He doesn't like being interrupted when he's on a roll, after all.

"You do, do you?" he asks, but it's not actually a question. Maybe he just wants to say it… or maybe he's worked out that someone has told them more than they should know.

Maybe he suspects he knows who it is.

Kevin takes a deep breath.

"Well, then," Hartley goes on, tone more controlled again. "Perhaps the good people of Night Vale need a little proof as to why it would be better to accept this than fight it."

And, glancing at the legion of Strex personnel arrayed at his back, he calls out a single word. A single name.

" _Kevin!_ "

For a second that lasts an eternity, Kevin feels the whole world break. Feels the eyes of everyone around him suddenly turn in his direction. Feels the weight of everything he's done, to prepare for this moment.

And then it all lifts, and the fear is gone, and the pressure is gone, and this is happening.

He steps forward from the crowd and walks over to the three standing at the old oak door, stopping close by.

"Yes, sir?" he says, looking at Hartley, his tone so very level and sure. Though, he can't help a glance over at Carlos and Cecil, his eyes meeting Carlos' for a second, and he wonders if the other man can tell what's coming.

"Kevin, you've been such an asset to Strexcorp, and to me," Hartley says, smoothly. Mere days ago, being talked about in public like this would have made Kevin blush with pride. But now… now he's starting to understand the truth behind the other man's words. "Even more so since I asked you to come out to Night Vale. I know it's been a challenging process but I also know you've faced it with absolute professionalism, and a cheerful smile to boot. You're a credit to our media arm and to our non-executive side and, as such, I need you to do something for me, right here and right now. Something _very_ important."

In the back of Kevin's mind, where the first of his regained memories are starting to swirl into existence, he feels a flash of red light. Remembers…

_…hands holding him, left and right, a stab of terror in his chest beyond anything he's ever known. Remembers… **something** that takes the confusion away, replaces the doubt with certainty. The fear with loyalty. Remembers…_

_**Callum**. Bright. Beautiful. Pleading. **Dying**_.

Not again. Never again. _**Never again** , you son of a bitch_.

Kevin meets Hartley's eyes. Betrays _nothing._ "Name it," he answers, graciously.

Hartley looks at Cecil, and smiles. And _smiles_. And in that moment, Kevin knows that the man he's adored and admired for two decades is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a monster.

"I want you to kill your double."

Carlos looks horrified. Cecil looks alarmed. And Kevin… Kevin feels everything else drop away. He puts a hand on the hilt of his knife, which makes Hartley smile, clearly believing his test has worked. Then he steps forward, towards Cecil, which makes both Cecil and Carlos look – for one awful second – terrified that this is going the way it appears.

And then Kevin turns, weapon undrawn, standing in front of Cecil and Carlos and staring Derek Hartley down.

And it's done. And, whatever comes next… he's free.

"No," he says, very pleasantly.

Hartley's ethereal blue eyes go _dark_. "No?" he repeats, a mixture of shock and anger in his voice.

" _No_ ," Kevin says again, more forcefully. "No one touches my double. No one touches his boyfriend. This has gone on long enough."

He's doing this. He's actually doing this. And he ought to be terrified – some part of him _is_ terrified – but what he _feels_ is **free**.

"This has gone on long enough," he repeats. "Strexcorp used to stand for something wonderful. For light and hope and productivity and everything that made our Desert Bluffs _great_. And we loved that. _I_ loved that. But now… now you're _engulfing_ our neighbours, even though they don't want you to. And that… that's _wrong_."

"Wrong?" Hartley repeats, incredulous. " _Wrong?_ After the sandstorm, _you_ came to _me_ and suggested precisely this! The fact myself and the rest of the board were already planning it is irrelevant! You stood in my office and flat-out _told me_ that we ought to expand our operations into Night Vale."

"Yes, I did," Kevin concedes, because he did, and there's no point in denying it. And he'd really rather not think about what happened _after_ he said those words. "But my motivations were… disjointed. Certainly not corporate. And I regret them now."

Hartley does not look impressed. "Oh, you do? And you think that makes a blind bit of difference to me? You're just one man. You have always been just one man."

That's harsh. And, under other circumstances, it would hurt worse than a knife to the gut. But Kevin doesn't feel it. Not any of it. Not anymore.

"But I'm not," he replies, with a renewed smile. "I'm not just one man at all. I'm not the only person who misses what Strexcorp _used_ to be."

And there's movement on the Strexcorp side of the square again, as four more figures step from the ranks: three women and one man, who move to stand in front of the people of Night Vale, spread out along the line, turning to face their former allies. Four of them. That's all Kevin could convince at short notice. But four more dissidents is better than no more dissidents.

"…Five of you?" Hartley says, dismissively. "I'm supposed to be worried by five of you?"

"You're supposed to be worried when any one of us breaks ranks," Kevin points out. And he should know, because he's killed enough of them for Hartley in the past. "When any one of us turns _dissident_. I on my own would have been enough to make the point. I just brought the others along because I like them, and because they agreed with me. Also they all have personal soul-binds to some _very_ impressive demonic entities, and I'm looking forward to watching them detach a few enforcer limbs."

He can't help the threat. Partly because it's true, and partly because he wants Hartley to try to cut him off from Azatothoth. So he can show the man just how _out_ of control he is.

There's a flicker of concern in Hartley's eyes, and then he laughs, taking the bait. "Oh, I've got to give you points for trying. You are _very_ trying, Kevin. But you really shouldn't have mentioned the demons. You see, those four may have personal soul-binds, but _your_ soul-bind to that over-tall, bat-winged monstrosity from the Fourth Infernal Plane is a Strexcorp employee perk: one _I_ gave you, and one I can overrule in the blink of an eye…"

Here we go. Hartley raises a hand and snaps his fingers, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings, and the walls of the Dog Park. "…As, indeed, I just did."

Kevin gives a level smile. "And as I knew you would," he says, calmly. "I'm not an idiot, sir. When I decided to do this – and I decided to do this quite a while ago – I knew you'd likely try something so underhand. Which is why _I_ did something _far_ more underhand in advance. I went into the house that doesn't exist – where you'd never be able to detect me – and I summoned Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty myself, using not my soul-bind but the rituals transcribed in the Planar Lexicon. He was quite taken aback at first – and, let me tell you, got a little high-spirited when he realised I'd summoned him the old-fashioned way and that he wasn't bound to obey me – but in the end we worked it out and had a nice little chat. Turns out that Azzie has been taking on private clients ever since he got promoted to adjunct. Imagine that! And, even more amazingly, he doesn't actually hate me quite as much as he usually implies. _So_ , long story short, I broke my Strexcorp soul-bind with him yesterday, and established a _private_ link instead."

He does _not_ mention the other soul-bind. Not even a little. That's something he hopes will never come up, but – if it does – he wants to keep his options open.

Not that those options would be good, if the situation arose. But… focus. Focus on now.

Focus on this moment of glorious triumph, even if it is a moment of glorious triumph that will likely get him killed.

Kevin holds up his hands, and remembers what that gesture means on the Fourth Infernal Plane. And _smiles_. "So if you're still planning to hurt my double, Mr Hartley, we'll see what _my_ demon has to say about it."

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," Hartley hisses.

Kevin's smile doesn't fade. "Wouldn't I?"

The air turns heavy. This is the sign he's agreed with his four allies: the moment when they summon their demons. The moment when they give clear, visual proof – to both sides – as to where this is inevitably going. And, as the other four begin their own summoning rituals – making the Night Valeans back off a little – Kevin pauses, meeting Hartley's eyes, wanting him to see. Wanting him to know that, in this, at least, he has been bested.

"You are _so_ fired," Hartley declares.

"Oh, you can fire me, sir," Kevin tells him. "You can fire me if you live to see four o'clock."

One of them isn't leaving this square alive. That much is now inevitable.

Unblinking, Kevin holds his hands a little higher, and begins the ritual to summon Azatothoth. He's aware of Cecil and Carlos, watching him intently, and of Hartley, trying to look unfazed.

But it isn't very convincing. He's worried. And that's incredibly gratifying.

The ritual comes to its end, and – in a burst of unholy light – Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty appears in the middle of his summoning circle, which is flickering away on the ground.

And… OK. Seriously? Now that Kevin can see his demon properly, he realises that Azzie is wearing a heavy metal breastplate, carved with an old and ancient summoning sigil from the Fourth, and matching spiked gauntlets. His ever-present sword is at his side, but he also has a huge longbow slung over his back, which must be at least six feet long, and a quiver of arrows that are more like spears.

Despite everything, Kevin looks the demon up and down and then folds his arms. "I'm sorry, did you _dress_ for the occasion?" he asks, trying not to sound ridiculously amused (and slightly endeared) by it all.

Azatothoth gives him an arched look. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this? The _unravelling_ of all things? Of _course_ I dressed for the occasion. Why didn't _you?_ "

Rude. This gets the demon a dismissive wave. "I didn't need to. I do fabulous as standard."

Which he does. Especially if it involves orange.

Hartley takes a pointed glance at his watch and then looks back up. "I didn't come here to listen to sartorial tips from a demon. Especially not a demon from the _Fourth_ Infernal Plane."

"…were you just being _planist?_ " Azatothoth asks, in the voice he uses when he's genuinely affronted, as opposed to just acting like it.

"Oh, sue me," Hartley replies, sounding a little agitated. "But on your own time because you, like your inexplicable little friend here, are _so_ very fired."

"Good," Azatothoth rumbles. "I really can't stand being on Strex's books. The paperwork is _murder_."

The pun clearly pushes Hartley over the edge. "I lack the patience for this," he says, and – with one last glower – he stalks over to the unopening door.

And suddenly, no one moves. Or breathes. And all Kevin can do is hope that Hartley never realised his key was swapped out. Never got hold of another.

Hope that what he did to get it wasn't for nothing.

Hartley knocks five times on the door and, seconds later, something knocks four times in reply. The sound draws a renewed smile to Hartley's lips; a smile that makes Kevin's blood go cold.

This is the moment Derek Hartley thinks he's won. And, whether or not he has, it's terrifying to witness.

"Believe in a Smiling God," Hartley declares, slotting his key into the lock and turning it. "Believe, Night Vale…"

He yanks on the door…

…and for a fleeting second, Kevin is sure it's going to open. Sure this is the end. Sure that ceaseless, inescapable light will pour into the world, and all will be lost. He can feel all lingering possibility falling out of existence: his one chance to make things right with Carlos, with Cecil. Even if all he does is say he's sorry, and know that they believe him…

…and the door doesn't open.

Hartley stares at it, and gives it another good yank.

 _Nothing_.

For a moment, there is silence, as everyone present stares at the unopened door, clearly processing what this means.

And then a shout cuts through the Night Valean crowd, as a single figure leaps up onto something, crying out in a loud, clear, fearless voice. It's Tamika Flynn. And though Kevin is still too much in shock to process all of the young woman's words, the last line sticks in his mind, inescapable and bright and true.

_"…If we die, Night Vale, let us die of having lived!"_

Colour explodes back into the world. Colour, and light, and hope, and warmth.

And Kevin is no longer afraid.

And that's a good thing, because – at this point – all hell breaks loose.

Both sides launch at each other, and battle commences. Before long, people are breaking off into smaller fights all over the square – some from the Strex side summoning demons of their own – and everything dissolves into chaos.

In the midst of it, Kevin draws his knife and then turns and grabs Cecil's arm, giving him and Carlos an urgent look. Hoping he's done enough to get them to trust him, at least for now. "Run," he says, tugging them further away from the door, just as he sees Mr Hartley draw his own knife and move to come after them.

They can lose the man in the crowd. He knows it. But it's going to require a diversion.

Kevin glances back at his demon. "Now would be a good time, Azzie!" he shouts. "If anyone tries to hurt my double, his scientist – or, you know, me – you have my blanket permission to snap them in two!"

" _This is the best day of my life!_ " Azatothoth roars – in Linear-B – and Kevin can't help a laugh in response.

"Oh, you," he remarks, allowing himself a moment to watch as Azzie cleaves an enforcer in two with his sword, before drawing his longbow and nocking an arrow, and…

…OK, wow, that's impressive.

But they can't linger, so Kevin tugs on Cecil's arm again, urging him and Carlos to keep moving. They head further away from the door, closer to the Night Valean edge of the square, surrounded by combat and bursts of light on all sides.

"This is insane!" Cecil calls out. He's still holding onto Carlos, trying to protect him whenever someone comes near, but it's obvious he has no experience of being in a situation like this.

"You people really have lived terribly quiet lives before now," Kevin remarks, wondering what that must be like. "This isn't exactly my first full-scale battle. It _is_ the first one that ended with me betraying my own side, though, so we're still treading new ground."

"Why _did_ you betray Strex?" Cecil asks, suspicion lingering in his eyes.

"Why do you think?" Kevin replies, wishing the other man knew. Wishing he could just get Cecil to trust him. "I… oh, hold that thought…"

A pair of enforcers comes running at them, weapons drawn. Instinct takes over, and Kevin raises his knife, launching at the two attackers. He has one of them floored before the man in question can respond, and stabs him squarely in the chest before leaping at the second.

Unlike his colleague, this enforcer is a little better prepared, and they lock blades before backing off slightly, then going for each other again.

And… OK, Kevin is aware that Cecil and Carlos are watching. And he can't deny that he enjoys the thought more than a little, even if they don't. And… is maybe listening to them talk whilst he fights the man who's trying to kill them.

Which is fine. Because there's only one. And one-on-one is too easy.

"…He's killing people again," Carlos says to Cecil.

"Yeah," Cecil replies, sounding weirdly distracted. "…But, you know… to save our lives…"

"…I just wanted to do science," Carlos murmurs. "I just wanted to do science quietly and not make a fuss…"

"I know," Cecil tells him. "But hey… welcome to Night Vale! Things don't always turn out the way you–"

"…I think you mean 'welcome to the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area', don't you?" comes a voice from behind them: a voice that makes them both turn in horror as another enforcer tries to go for them.

Things happen fast. Kevin drives his knife into the enforcer he's been fighting, then immediately yanks it back and throws it through the air, directly between Cecil and Carlos. The blade thunks into the latest enforcer's chest, sending him reeling to the ground at once. And it's hard to tell who looks more shocked by the move: the enforcer, or Cecil and Carlos.

"They mean, _'welcome to Night Vale'_ ," Kevin hisses, stalking over to pull his knife out of the enforcer's chest, aware he's covered in a lot of blood now. "Although," he can't help adding, as he glances at Cecil, "'the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area' does have a nice ring to it…"

…is this him trying to flirt with the man? If it is, it isn't deliberate. Although he does have a tendency to do the knife-throwing thing when he's showing off, and…

…oh, he really needs to focus.

"No, Kevin," Cecil tells him, flatly, which is certainly helpful where the focusing-thing is concerned.

Kevin shrugs. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

It's at this point that three helicopters sweep into view: former Strexcorp helicopters that have been taken and re-purposed by the Night Vale youth militia. And now, their young leader is climbing up a rope ladder to join them, getting a great many whoops and cheers from her allies in the process.

"Take them out!" shrieks Derek Hartley, from somewhere near the door. "None of this is _productive!_ "

He's clearly losing his composure. Although… why is he still so far over that way? Kevin had been so sure the man was coming right after them. So what is he doing?

No time to think about that now. Not when the air is suddenly filled with Strexcorp helicopters, swooping towards the three now belonging to the youth militia.

And that's when it happens. Kevin has been aware this whole time that four of the five people from the original most wanted list – Old Woman Josie, John Peters, Larry Leroy and Steve Carlsberg – have been standing together near the centre of the square. And now they all grip hands, making the air go electric: hot, then cold, and then static. The sensation chases through the crowd and beyond it, forming a glittering dome of silver light over the whole square, protecting them from the helicopters.

"Take _them_ out!" Tamika shouts, triumphantly, as her young allies start firing rocks at the Strexcorp helicopters. One goes down in a blaze of fire, causing a moment of alarm that turns to renewed triumph as it bounces off the glittering dome of light and skitters across the intangible surface, finally sliding to the ground well beyond the battlefield.

Well. Kevin doesn't quite know what power those four are calling on – or if _they_ even know – but it certainly is something.

"It's working!" Larry Leroy whoops with delight. "It's working!"

"Stand firm!" Josie calls out. "Stand firm for Night Vale!"

"…Weird friends you have," Kevin can't help remarking, looking at Carlos.

"Says the man half-drenched in the blood of his own _employers_ ," Carlos manages.

"Oh, shush, I told you it would end up like this," Kevin insists. "Not in so many words, but… hey, life's more fun if you have to work some stuff out for yourself. You like science, you should totally get that."

Wow, he is enjoying himself now. He feels great. He feels free. He feels _alive_.

"Uh… Kevin?" Cecil cuts across.

"Yes, my dear double?" So he's flirting a little. So what?

"Don't call me that. Also, I think your demon wants you."

Only now does Kevin process that Azzie is calling his name. The demon is a little way off, but he _is_ eight feet tall, so he's hard to miss. And his voice carries. Kevin turns at once, immediately spotting the trio of enforcers that Azzie is trying to warn him about.

Although they're rapidly a pair, given that one of them then gets an arrow in the back. An arrow from Azzie's delightfully wicked longbow, which causes the man in question to explode in all directions.

Kevin gives a little whoop of delight. Cecil and Carlos do nothing of the sort.

"…Oh, I'm not enjoying this," Cecil manages.

"Really?" Kevin replies. "I am!"

And he launches at the remaining two enforcers, bowling one of them to the ground and making light work of him, before quickly going for the second. And _oh_ , he feels incredible right now.

Radiant. Resplendent. Terrible. _Beautiful_.

He rises to his feet after driving his blade into the second enforcer, grinning from ear to ear, and looking over at Cecil and Carlos. And, OK yes, they both seem horrified. But… not _just_ horrified.

…OK, wait, what?

"Oh, relax, you two," Kevin says. "Honestly, anyone would think you'd never even–"

That's when it happens. He's cut off in mid-sentence as a figure grabs his shoulder: a figure even more blood-streaked than he himself is.

It's Derek Hartley.

Derek Hartley, eyes lit with malice, blade in hand.

In a second that lasts a breath and an eternity, Hartley yanks Kevin round so they're facing each other. So the look in his eyes is impossible to miss.

So much passes between them in that instant. So much. Everything.

And then, blade flashing, Hartley stabs Kevin in the side.

It doesn't hurt, not at first. The sensation is more like a mixture of hot and cold, along with a distinct feeling of being completely detached from reality. All Kevin can do is stare at Hartley in shock, still not able to believe what's just happened.

But, at the same time, he knows why he's been stabbed _there_. Not in the back, not in the chest, but _there_ , where he's had a scar for so very long. Since the hostile takeover attempt at the turn of the millennium, when he was injured fighting for Strexcorp. Hartley has always said Kevin took that mark for Strex, for _him_ , but it runs deeper than that.

Hartley saved his life that day. And his life has belonged to the man ever since, to let him keep, or to take back, as he chooses.

And he's chosen.

Kevin supposes he shouldn't be surprised.

He is, however, hazily surprised to hear a scream as he drops to the floor: a scream of genuine, soul-deep horror that is, unmistakably, Carlos. And then he hears the distant sound of movement, as both Carlos and Cecil come running over, clearly without thought for their own safety.

But their safety is something of an issue right now. Hartley is still standing over him, knife streaked with blood, and clearly ready to go for both of them.

And that's when Kevin hears another shout: not a scream, but a roar.

 _"I will **end** you!"_ howls Azatothoth the Bloodthirsty, voice laden with a rage so intense that it takes Kevin by surprise.

Hartley turns and stands his ground, knife bared, as Azatothoth slings his longbow over his shoulder and draws his sword.

" _You?_ " Hartley hisses, voice laden with scorn. "You really think I'm scared of an _adjunct_ from the _Fourth_ Infernal Plane? You're just a _drone_. Not even fit for _junior_ management."

…that was a mistake. Azzie _really_ doesn't like planism.

"Maybe so," Azatothoth rumbles. "But we're the ones who hold companies like yours together. Or rip them apart."

And the two of them launch at each other, and Kevin is sure he must be delirious, because he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

It takes mere seconds. Seconds that are punctuated by sights and sounds Kevin won't ever forget, for however much longer he lives.

"…Masters of us all…" Cecil breathes, voice shaking.

And, insane though it is to believe… Derek Hartley is dead.

All Kevin can do is stare at what's left of him. He's dead. The man is dead. The man who _controlled and destroyed his life for **twenty years** is **dead**_.

And, to make matters even more insane and wonderful, Carlos closes the remaining distance between them and throws himself down at Kevin's side, clapping his hand over the wound. Or, over Kevin's hand, which he himself has already pressed over the wound, as hard as he can.

There is blood. A lot of blood. A lot of blood that is all his.

Shock kicks in.

"Oh no, no, no…" Carlos mutters, pressing tighter.

"…Oh _wow_ , that hurts…" Kevin gasps. "Could you maybe… you know..?"

"Don't you dare ask me for an aspirin again," Carlos replies, a little hysterically, as Cecil drops down on Kevin's other side looking…

…horrified? Wait, what?

"Whyever not?" Kevin murmurs, thinking happily about that day outside their house, back at the start of all this. "'s good for pain."

"Kevin, acetylsalicylic acid is also a blood thinner."

Oh… science words. Kevin loves it when Carlos uses science words. They're so pretty. Like him.

"Acetyl… what?"

"Acetylsalicylic acid. Aspirin."

"…Oh. You're _very_ smart."

"And you're very wounded!"

"You should run," Kevin gasps. He's going to die, he's sure of it, but he'll die happy if the other two live. Which, now that Mr Hartley _is_ dead… might actually be possible. "Both of you. I… just hope I bought you enough time."

"You did," Cecil replies, his voice so intense and certain and _caring_ that it leaves Kevin dizzy all over again.

"…Leave me," Kevin says. Pleads, even though he doesn't want them to go. Doesn't want them to ever go. "It's OK. It's OK. My mother always used to say that my death would be because of a mirror, and I… I'm just glad it was for you…"

"My mother always said the same," Cecil replies, gripping his arm. "And I'm sure both our mothers were very wise. But it won't be today. It will _not_ be today."

His tone is more wonderful than Kevin deserves. The look in his eyes is more wonderful than Kevin deserves. And he could literally cry with happiness as Cecil – seeing several more Strex employees closing in – picks up Kevin's fallen blade and turns to them. He swings the blade in their direction, clearly not sure what to do with it, and made all the more perfect as a result.

"Stay back!" Cecil declares. "No one touches my double!"

"And what, _you're_ going to stop us?" one of the middle-managers sneers. "You and what army?"

" _This army!_ " comes a shout from close by.

It's Steve Carlsberg – Cecil's brother-in-law, Kevin remembers – still standing with the other three. And, is Kevin even more delirious, or are the four of them _glowing_?

A ripple of power cuts through the crowd, followed by a second, which knocks the group of middle-managers off their feet, throwing them back out into the heart of the battle.

"…Thanks!" Cecil calls over to the four, in obvious relief.

"This doesn't mean I like you!" Steve shouts.

But this is a lie. Anyone paying attention to his voice can surely hear that. Even if they're bleeding to death on the floor.

"This is only going to work for so long," Kevin rasps, grabbing Carlos' shoulder with his free arm. "You seriously need to–"

And then a new sound cuts the air.

Three knocks.

Three knocks from the far side of the unopening door.

And Kevin understands. If Hartley could use his key to let in the Smiling God, what can Cecil and Carlos use it for? And isn't it time they found out?

"…Hartley's key…" Kevin gasps.

"What about it?" Carlos asks. "Do we need it?"

"No. No. His key… his _real_ key… you've already got it. I switched it out, days ago. Replaced it with one like mine… one of the less-powerful ones. Yours is the one he thought he had. The only one that can…"

His eyes go to the old oak door.

"I can open it?" Carlos manages.

"With the key I gave you, you can," Kevin replies.

"But… we don't _want_ it open. That… that _light_ …"

"That light… the… the Smiling God… would come through if Hartley opened the door. But those keys… they're smarter than you think."

Carlos stares. "The _keys_ are smart?"

"Yes. If someone _else_ opens that door… they might get something different…"

"Might?"

Kevin gives a little shrug, because – let's face it – all of this is conjecture. Desperate conjecture. "Well, we are talking about overruling the _Smiling God_. I can't promise it will work."

"But it might work?"

"Yeah. It might work."

"Good. Because we're still outnumbered and I don't know how much longer our people can hold the Strex lot off."

"So… go," Kevin insists. "Go open that door and find out what _else_ is on the other side…"

And he's sure this is it. Sure they'll go, now. Sure they'll leave him.

But he's wrong.

Something world-changing flickers in Carlos' eyes. "Cecil!" he calls. "We need to get to the unopening door. All three of us!"

"All three of us?" Cecil repeats. "I… Carlos, you're a genius!"

Kevin has no idea why it needs to be all three of them. None whatsoever. All he knows is that one moment he's on the ground, and the next Cecil has raced back over, and both of them are pulling him carefully to his feet. Cecil – knife still in hand – takes one of Kevin's arms over his shoulder, and Carlos takes the second, keeping his other hand over the wound on Kevin's side.

Should he feel so happy? Or is he just delirious?

And they set out over the battlefield, with Azzie going ahead of them, knocking people out of the way, clearing them a path to the door. When they get close, Carlos moves the hand from Kevin's side, jamming it into his pocket and pulling out the key. _The_ key. Seeing it again is painful but, at the same time, Kevin knows now that what he did to get it was worthwhile.

"This is it," Carlos gasps, voice shaking. "This…"

He pushes the key into the lock and turns it.

And pulls on the door handle.

…But there's nothing.

It's like the whole world has stopped again. And not in a good way this time. It has to work. It _has_ to.

"…That's impossible," Kevin murmurs, brokenly. "That's the key, _the_ key, and I was so sure…"

He staggers a little, nearly losing his footing, and both Cecil and Carlos have to half-catch him, tightening their hold to keep him upright; their hands touching across his back as they do. And Carlos jumps at this, shock registering in his eyes.

"What is it?" Cecil asks.

"You didn't feel that?" Carlos replies. "That… _heat?_ "

"No," Cecil answers. "I–"

Kevin doesn't have a clue what's going on. But Carlos – brilliant, wonderful Carlos – clearly, suddenly does.

"Touch me again," he says. "So both of you are doing it at the same time."

Cecil doesn't argue. He reaches around Kevin and grips Carlos' arm.

And, whilst Kevin doesn't feel any different, Carlos clearly does. He reaches forward, turns the key once again… and pulls open the unopening door.

And there is light: warm, bright, glorious light. Not the violent glow of the Smiling God, but something pure and wonderful, which courses through the air like a beacon of hope.

That's when he sees her. For there, standing in the open doorway, is a young woman, who glows like the dawn, and smiles with nothing but goodness in her eyes.

It's impossible. It can't be her. Not his long-gone intern. Not Vanessa.

Vanessa died. But here stands a woman identical to her. Or… is it her?

Kevin doesn't know.

"I'm home," the woman whispers. " _I'm home_."

Beyond her lies a vast and open desert, no longer cloaked in the glow of day but instead wrapped in the glitter of night. At its centre stands that mountain, with the blinking red light atop it, and between the foot of the mountain and where the woman stands are…

Warriors. Hundreds upon hundreds of masked warriors. And, close by, another young woman: a woman wearing a satchel filled with oranges.

"We made it," breathes the second woman.

"We made it," the first echoes, and then she turns, smiling at the army standing at her back.

And they charge.

Kevin is aware of movement: of Cecil and Carlos pulling him with them as they hurry back from the door, of that great masked army bursting out into the world. Of battle flaring up anew, as the stunned Strexcorp employees are suddenly, rapidly overwhelmed.

When the vast desert behind her has emptied out, the glowing woman finally steps through the door. Her face is serene, timeless, certain, but without even a flicker of anything untoward. She turns, closing the door behind her, and it shines vibrant white as if sealing, before vanishing into nothingness.

It's gone. The door is gone. The Smiling God can't get through.

The relief is like a tidal wave. Kevin is aware of the sounds of battle, of light and wonder and _victory_ , and then the unravelled sun suddenly coils back into itself in a burst of radiance, before dropping below the horizon.

Night falls in an instant, and then there's silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

It's over.

It's over… and they've won.

 _It's done_.

Exhausted, Kevin collapses, and Cecil and Carlos have no choice but to lower him gently to the ground, dropping down beside him. He's aware of them there, staying close, and of Azzie lurking a little further off, but little else. With the sunlight gone, everything feels so dark, and so cold, and… distant…

He's dying. He knows it. But he's dying with Cecil and Carlos at his side, with Strex defeated, with Derek Hartley dead.

So he's dying happy, and vindicated, and sure, so very sure, that it was all worth it.

It's then that he realises the glowing woman is pacing closer. She drops down onto one knee close by, staring at him, and at Cecil.

"You made it back," Cecil whispers, joy in his eyes despite everything else. "You made it _home_."

"I did," the woman replies. "It's so good to see you again."

Kevin blinks up at her. "…Vanessa?" he whispers.

The woman looks at him. "No," she says, gently. "I'm Dana."

"Oh," Kevin breathes. Her double. Of course. And yet, still strangely fitting. "Well… you look just like her… I think, I… everything is going cold…"

"We have to do something!" Carlos exclaims. "Is any of the Medical Board still alive? We have to get him to a hospital!"

"Many of them are still alive," Dana replies, softly. "And they will help the survivors. But they don't need to help Kevin. I can do that…"

He blinks at her again. "You know who I am?" he murmurs.

"Of course I do," Dana says. "I was the first person from Night Vale to see you. I was hiding there in the booth, the day of the sandstorm. And I was terrified. But I'm not terrified now. Now… I understand…"

Oh. _Oh_.

Dana reaches forward, gently nudging first Carlos' and then Kevin's hand away from the wound on his side. It hurts so much he can hardly process it now, but he only has a second to think about that before Dana lays her own hand over it.

And the light pours out of her. It pours out of her and into Kevin, and he feels the most astonishing sensation blaze through him, again and again: so intense that he can't stop himself crying out in shock. It lasts for several seconds and then vanishes all at once; the light gone completely, from him and from Dana.

Kevin gasps, letting oxygen flood back into his lungs as if he's just broken the surface of impossibly deep water. His hand goes to his side, and he jumps when he realises nothing is there.

Nothing. No wound. And… no years-old scar.

If he could do anything beyond lie there and breathe, he'd laugh, and he'd cry.

"…How..?" Carlos exclaims, sounding as stunned and as relieved as Kevin feels. " _How..?!_ "

And he throws his arms around Dana, hugging her tight, and Kevin nearly breaks to see it. _Carlos is relieved that he's OK_.

"He needed it more than me," Dana whispers, as Carlos finally pulls back from the embrace.

"Please tell me he's not still alive," comes a cold voice from close by.

Kevin's stomach lurches with fresh alarm. He knows that voice. Knows it well.

It's Lauren Hartley-Mallard.

"Help me up," he whispers, not wanting to look any weaker than he already does. Cecil and Carlos oblige at once, which is a good thing, because although he's no longer dying, Kevin still feels like he might pass out at any moment.

Dana rises to her feet too, and he can't help feeling she's deliberately standing in front of the three of them a little. _Defensively_. It's strange. And… gratifying?

Lauren herself stands at the centre of a small group, which has been escorted over by some of the masked warriors. She has Daniel at her side, his arm over her shoulder – evidently wounded as well – and he throws Kevin a very unpleasant look as their eyes meet. And behind them stand Nina Belmonte, Lilith Wallace, and Hikaru Tachibana.

So… where is Aidan Outteridge? Is he dead too?

"I'm still alive," Kevin declares, voice as level as he can make it. "I thought you of all people would be _pleased_ by that, Lauren. We used to get on so well."

This is an understatement. They were practically family.

"Yes, we did," she replies, coldly. "I liked you. I _admired_ you. And then you _betrayed_ Strexcorp, betrayed the Smiling God, for… for _what?_ For this pathetic little backwater?"

"My reasons are my own," Kevin replies. "Not Strexcorp's. Not anymore."

Lauren glowers at him, and it's clear she wants him to admit he did it for Cecil and Carlos. Which he did, for the most part. Though he's not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing him say it.

"It's corporate treason," she hisses. "You, and the other defectors, none of whom seem to have survived. I ought to make it the full set. I should kill you where you – for want of a better word – stand."

"You come near him and you'll have to go through me," Cecil interjects, gesturing subtly with Kevin's knife, which he's still holding.

"And me," Carlos adds, fiercely.

"And _me_ ," Dana declares, folding her arms.

" _And us_ ," say Josie, John, Larry and Steve, in very effective unison, from where they're also standing close by.

It may be, in fact, the greatest moment in Kevin's life to date.

Lauren glowers all the more. "Fine," she says, flatly. "Fine. We're going back to Desert Bluffs. Strexcorp is withdrawing from Night Vale. You like this little place so much, you can keep it. All this revolutionary nonsense is interfering with important business productivity. And as for _you_ ," she adds, looking at Kevin, "you can consider yourself fired. And exiled. You'll never set foot in Desert Bluffs again. _Never_."

…OK, that was inevitable. And it _hurts_ , like nothing ever has.

"Fine," Kevin replies, trying to keep the anguish out of his tone. Because what does he have, without his beloved Desert Bluffs?

"And he won't need to," Cecil declares, answering the question for him. "Because he can stay right here, in Night Vale."

Kevin stares at him in soul-deep shock, not sure he believes what he's hearing. Lauren, meanwhile, looks ready to kill someone.

"Well, good luck with that," she hisses.

And, all giving him one last, nasty look, the group turns, and the masked warriors escort them away.

"…You really mean it?" Kevin murmurs, still staring at Cecil.

"Yes, I mean it. Now don't do anything weird that makes me change my mind."

A wave of delirious joy passes over him, and Kevin glances at Azatothoth, who is still lurking close by. "Hey, Azzie," he says. "I'm totally alive!"

"Of course you are," the demon replies. "I'm convinced there's no force in existence capable of sparing me from your incessant summonings."

Kevin beams. "Oh, you," he says, fondly. "You like me really. Otherwise you wouldn't have let me have a private soul-bind. And you certainly wouldn't have done that delightful thing to Mr Hartley where you–"

"I shut my eyes for that part, Kevin, I don't want to know," Carlos interrupts, with a shudder.

"Oh, fine," Azatothoth concedes. "And hey, I sort of got to kill my boss. Ex boss. By proxy. Or something. I'm living the dream!"

He grins broadly, gives Kevin a nod, and then vanishes in a blaze of infernal light.

"I really do like that guy," Kevin murmurs. "He's so helpful."

"…He's soul-bound to you," Cecil reminds him.

"Yeah," Kevin agrees, happily. "Think I might pass out now."

"Don't you dare," Carlos says.

But he does.


	7. If This Feeling Flows Both Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sequence, incidentally, marks only the second time in the entire history of Chiralityverse that I've actually cried whilst writing a scene. (The first, unsurprisingly, was the grand finale.) When I started this fic, I wanted to tell missing pieces of story, but it ended up being way more emotional - and way more cathartic - than I expected.
> 
> This 'verse does that to me a lot...

When Kevin comes to, he doesn't know where he is.

Everything is hazy, the lighting low. At first, he can't get the world to come into focus, but he's vaguely aware of voices, and of a warm hand holding his.

"…be fine," says a voice he knows is Cecil's. "I think he just needs some time to rest. He did… go through a lot."

Oh… _there_ are the memories. OK. Wow. Is all of that true? Did he really..?

…he _did_.

"…Worth it in the end, though…" he murmurs. He blinks a few times, staring blearily upwards, slowly becoming aware that both Cecil and Carlos are here. Carlos is kneeling at his side, holding his hand, and Cecil is standing next to him, a hand on Carlos' shoulder.

"…Hey…" he says. They're here. They're both here. And so is he.

And what is happening right now?

"Hey yourself," Carlos manages, sounding incredibly relieved.

"How are you feeling?" Cecil asks.

"…Like I just survived getting fired…" Kevin replies. "I… whoa, my head feels _weird_ … I… wait, where am I?"

"Our place," Carlos replies.

The shock gets even stronger, and Kevin stares at him. "…You brought me home?"

They brought him home. They brought him _home_.

"Had to take you someplace safe," Cecil points out. "Those strange masked warriors are still helping the Secret Police clear the last of the Strex personnel out of town, and we didn't want your old employers trying anything."

"Ah… good… good thinking," Kevin agrees. "I… thanks for that. You didn't have to…"

"Of course we did," Cecil insists, like he means it. "You saved our lives. And…"

He trails off, and Carlos looks up at him in surprise.

"…Carlos, can I speak to you for a moment?" Cecil asks, which makes Carlos jump.

Why would he..?

…oh. Oh no. Or… not? Or…

Kevin stays very quiet, trying to work out if what he thinks is happening might be happening. Either that, or he's still delirious.

"Sure," Carlos agrees, voice shaking. "We'll be right back," he tells Kevin, and then lets go of his hand, clambering to his feet. Then both he and Cecil head off through the nearby door, which Kevin is reasonably certain leads into the kitchen.

And he's left alone, mind racing, trying to decide what he thinks is going on. For a moment, he lies where he is – just glad to be somewhere safe and quiet – and then curiosity gets the better of him, and he manages to stagger slowly to his feet, pacing closer to the open kitchen door.

Staying just out of sight. Listening.

"…Cecil, I love _you_ ," he hears Carlos insist, desperately.

"I know you do," Cecil replies, voice soft and sure. "And you also love him. One doesn't necessarily rule out the other. They can both be true."

Kevin feels like his heart is going to stop. He wants to move, but he's frozen to the spot. Is this actually happening? Or is he in the middle of some kind of fever dream?

"I… I know," Carlos concedes, "but…"

There's the soft sound of movement, and – though he can't see – Kevin is confident Cecil has just wrapped his arms around Carlos. And… he wonders what that feels like. Not to wrap his arms around Carlos – he knows what _that_ feels like – but to have Cecil's arms wrapped around _him_.

His heart aches. He wants them both. He wants them both so much.

"I'm sorry," Carlos whispers. "I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could just… _decide_. And… and…"

"I… may have another solution," Cecil says, suddenly, with a strange edge to his tone that seems to make Carlos jump back in surprise.

"You… you do?" Carlos manages, his voice shaking.

"Yes," Cecil tells him, and now he sounds so _sure_. "I don't know if it would work, though. I'd… need to see what Kevin thinks."

There are moments in our lives in which, for a fleeting second, we get the chance to experience perfect clarity. They don't come often. They don't stay long. But, if seized… they can change everything forever.

Kevin steps into view. "…You could just ask me," he says, softly.

He knows the emotions are writ large all over his face, now. The vulnerability. The want. The _desperate_ adoration. He's hidden it as best he could – for the most part – since he first arrived in Night Vale, but right now… it's all there, plain as day, for them to see.

And to act on, if they choose.

"What are you going to do now?" Cecil says to Kevin.

Maybe it's just curiosity. Or… maybe it's a leading question.

So he lets himself be led.

"I… don't know," he admits. "I… all my life I've known, and now… now it's all come crashing down. I don't regret a thing, but… I can't ever go home. I don't even know where I _will_ go."

The thought terrifies him. But… it's a distant worry, for the moment.

"Why do you have to go anywhere?" Cecil asks, slowly advancing on him as he speaks. "You don't have to. You could stay here."

_You could stay here_. The world cracks open, and it's full of starlight.

"Stay here?" Kevin whispers, suddenly aware that _this is really happening_.

"Yes," Cecil answers. "Stay here. With _us_."

He reaches out all at once, grabs hold of Kevin, and pulls him in to kiss, firm and sure. And it's so impossibly, breathlessly wonderful that all Kevin can do is go with it, and let his double kiss him, whilst all of reality re-writes itself in the wake of this one perfect moment. The other man feels amazing. More amazing than Kevin ever dreamed. And… he dreamed rather a lot.

And everything just falls into place. Cecil actually wants him. Carlos clearly _still_ wants him. And how can something so wonderful happen to someone who has done the things he's done?

He doesn't know. But it _is_.

The kiss breaks, and there's a long moment where he and Cecil are staring at each other. Cecil looks absolutely sure of himself, and Kevin is well-aware he looks stunned out of his mind.

And Carlos is watching. Carlos, who wants them both, just like Cecil wants them both. Just like _Kevin_ wants them _both_ , and…

… _ **oh**_.

None of them even has to say a word. Cecil reaches over and grabs hold of Carlos, pulling him in between the two of them, so he's facing Kevin. Just like they were standing, little more than a day ago, in the house that doesn't exist… except that it's different now.

And it isn't. And Kevin knows what this is: an open door. An open door for him, and for Carlos.

And for Cecil too.

Kevin grabs hold of Carlos and kisses him as hard as he can, the way he's wanted to kiss the man since that day in Desert Bluffs, so long ago. A kiss born from a declaration of love, whispered in the morning sunlight. And, at the same time, Cecil wraps around Carlos from behind, holding onto him, and it doesn't make Kevin feel even the barest _flicker_ of jealousy.

On the contrary. It's absolutely _glorious_ to watch. And… what do you even call it when there's three of you, and you all want both of the others? If two's a couple, what's three?

A trio? Or… triad?

" _Please_ ," Carlos gasps, sounding utterly wrecked. " _Please_."

" _Anything for you_ ," the other two both whisper, one in each ear, in unison, and Kevin jumps internally when he realises that something has just clicked between him and Cecil. They are doubles, after all. And suddenly, it's like they both understand.

And it's _wonderful_.

It's also something that should be thoroughly taken advantage of, much like the _very_ enthusiastic scientist currently held between them. They both start kissing his neck, one on each side – right where they both know it will drive him insane – and his knees actually give way after a moment of it, though they catch him long before he can fall, arms supporting him, holding him up.

Eventually – perhaps realising they should say something – they all manage to pause, staying wrapped in close. Kevin stares at the two men in front of him, heart racing with joy.

"…You really mean it…" he whispers.

"We really mean it," Cecil replies, with a smile.

"Merciful _Einstein_ , yes," Carlos manages.

"We… should…" Kevin starts out, and then hesitates, suddenly wondering if he's pushing his luck.

But apparently, he isn't. "Bedroom," Cecil says, obviously understanding, and still smiling. "I think you already know where it is."

Kevin can't stop himself blushing at that.

And off they stagger, all three of them, kissing as they go, clattering through the bedroom door in a half-dressed and highly enthusiastic tangle. And what follows is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the greatest night of Kevin's life.

By quite some margin.

***

When Kevin wakes up, the first thing he's aware of is that he isn't alone.

It _wasn't_ a dream. He's lying in a warm, lovely bed, close to Cecil, with Carlos wrapped between them, and he's so happy he doesn't quite know what to do.

So… he just lies there. The other two seem to still be asleep, and he doesn't want to disturb them. Not when he can just lie, curled in a tangle with them, gradually remembering everything that happened yesterday.

Some of it is terrifying. A lot of it is wonderful.

All of it led here.

After a few moments, Carlos moves just slightly, and it's clear he's awake. And… so is Cecil.

"Hey, you," Cecil murmurs, kissing Carlos on the forehead.

"Hey…" Carlos replies. "I… oh _wow_ , I think you broke me…"

"That was sort of the idea," Kevin says, tightening the arm around him just a little. "Was it _good_ breaking..?"

He hopes so. He certainly enjoyed it.

"Good?" Carlos repeats, hazily. "It was _amazing_."

The happiness gets even stronger. It's so intense now that Kevin doesn't quite know how to process it. But… he's also a little scared. A _lot_ scared, if truth be told, because… because good things like this don't happen to people like him. And he still can't quite believe this is real. Or that it isn't about to come to a sudden end.

"…What happens now?" he asks, hesitantly.

Cecil reaches out a little more, so as to pull them both in closer. "You stay here with us," he replies. "Though not in bed forever because, as much as it is very lovely, we will have to get up at some point. Plus Carlos can do some _amazing_ things with bacon that you might have experienced before but not in a long time. Breakfast is _serious_ business for scientists."

"So I recall…" Kevin says. "So you do… actually want me to _stay_ stay?"

"Of course we do," Carlos answers.

Kevin holds on tighter, his mind still not quite believing that this is all happening. "…For real?" he whispers, voice breaking.

"For _ever_ ," Cecil tells him. "You're a part of me, and you're a part of Carlos too. And… I don't think any of us wants to be incomplete any longer…"

"I don't know what to say," Kevin manages, trying very hard not to cry.

Carlos laughs, gently. "That's a first."

"Oh, shush you," Kevin tells him, kissing the back of his neck, glad of the diversion.

And curling in as tight as he possibly can. They want him. _They want him_.

"We probably _should_ get up…" Cecil points out.

"Mmmm," Carlos agrees. "And jump in the shower."

Cecil laughs. "I don't think all three of us can go in at once."

There's an odd little pause. Sometimes this is where the best ideas come from.

"We could try, though," Kevin suggests.

"Yeah," Carlos agrees, grinning. "For _science_."

***

It's the start of a truly incredible day.

The town slowly begins to get back to normal… or, whatever passes for normal around here. By mid-morning, Night Vale Community Radio's returning Station Management have gotten in touch with Cecil, offering him his old job again, and – with Cecil's blessing – inviting Kevin to come and work with him as well.

Both of them. On the radio together. Like they're meant to be.

The broadcast itself is pure joy. Carlos comes along – partly to watch, and partly because he's clearly still in shock from yesterday's less pleasant events, and doesn't want to be alone – and by the end of it, Cecil and Kevin are holding hands over the broadcast table, and finishing each other's sentences.

And Carlos looks like he's in heaven. _Scientist_ heaven. What was it he called them last night?

_Chiral_. The same but different.

It's a good word.

With the broadcast done, they head… what is Kevin even supposed to call it? Back to Cecil and Carlos' house? Back… _home_?

All of this is very confusing. Good confusing. But still confusing.

And he can't stop feeling little flickers of fear in amongst the joy. Fear that the illusion might break. Fear that all of this could be fleeting. It isn't that he doesn't trust the other two, but simply that he still can't quite wrap his mind around the idea that something so incredible is happening to _him_.

They go back to the house. Cecil makes dinner, and then – once they're done eating – Carlos announces that he needs to go do some science.

"Just a little," he clarifies. "I've been on the run for days. I _really_ need to set a few experiments going."

"It's OK," Cecil tells him, smiling. "We'll be here when you're done."

The physical separation is still a little alarming, after all. Given what they've been through.

Needing a moment to gather his thoughts, Kevin paces outside, to watch the sun set. It looks so normal and natural this evening, and he sits for a little while on the front step, and watches, and thinks to himself.

Heading back inside, he finds Cecil settled on one of the couches in the living room. The man has apparently become quite a fan of the collection of documentaries on Netflix, and is slowly working his way through all the good ones. He looks up as Kevin walks in, a smile on his face.

"Hey," he says. "Come join me? I'm watching an exposé on the Svitzian Monolith Scandal of '99, but I'm only a few minutes in."

"Sure," Kevin replies, glad of the offer, and he's about to settle on the other couch when Cecil holds out a hand.

"You don't have to lurk over there, you know," he points out, gently, and gestures Kevin in closer.

Still a little taken aback by the offer, Kevin moves to sit next to Cecil, and his double wraps an arm around him at once, carefully pulling him in. And, hesitantly, Kevin goes with it, curling up against Cecil's side and – when Cecil clearly doesn't mind – resting his head on his double's shoulder.

It feels utterly wonderful. Maybe even more wonderful than all those things they did last night. That was caught in a wave of passion and energy, but this… this is careful, and measured, and happening because they have both decided – in a moment of sensible, rational thought – that they want it.

Cecil strokes slowly along Kevin's arm, over and over, and Kevin just relaxes into the contact more and more. He can feel the tension and the fear and the doubt and the uncertainty all just fading out of him, bit by bit, to be replaced by warmth, and want, and the most powerful sense of _right_.

And here it is again, that feeling of true happiness. The more he experiences it, the more he realises it's been so very, very long since he last did. Not since things fell apart between him and Carlos. Not really, and before that…

…maybe not since Callum.

Callum, who he lost. But who he has, finally, avenged.

Kevin curls in tighter, and – seemingly sensing that he needs it – Cecil wraps him in a little more, all without a word. And there they sit, for some time, until there's movement at the living room side-door, and Carlos paces through from his lab.

And stops, staring at the pair of them. "…You two look absolutely adorable right now," he says, sounding thoroughly – gratifyingly – delighted.

"You should come join us," Cecil replies, holding out his free hand. "Then we'd look even _more_ adorable."

Carlos moves in at once, sitting on Cecil's other side and curling up too, much like Kevin is. And – still a little cautious – Kevin slides his own hand to rest on Cecil's chest, over his heart, and he's happy beyond words when Carlos reaches out to lay his hand over Kevin's.

And there they are: the radio broadcaster, his double, and their scientist. Here. Together.

There's so much left undone. Desert Bluffs is still in Strexcorp's grasp. Three members of the Management Board are still out there. And all the people from Kevin's life… his friends, his _family_ … are still at risk.

These moments of quiet won't last forever. Eventually, he'll have to face the fallout. Eventually, he'll have to _fix this_.

It's who he is. It's what he does.

But, this time… he won't have to do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I hope I have made up for my latest disappearance by returning with all of this in one go. I should also point out that I don't expect my other planned one-shots in this 'verse to end up quite so long! (You can never be sure, though. Especially if I give Kevin POV. Kevin takes being given POV as blanket permission to talk non-stop for as long as he can!)
> 
> If you've read this one but haven't read [On the Nature of Love and Chirality](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1708196), you might want to do that now. If nothing else, you do get the full scene after the three of them tumble through that bedroom door... ;-)
> 
> Thanks for joining me for this one-shot that very nearly turned into an entire novel! Until next time, dear readers. Until next time...


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